


One For Sorrow

by Anorlost



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Demonic Possession, Drug Use, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, Past Non-Con, abuse of religion, catholicism everywhere, mentions of anti-semetism, religious based abused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-11-14 05:46:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 43,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11201685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anorlost/pseuds/Anorlost
Summary: Father Ben never had a case that struck so close to home as this.  Armitage 'Armaz' Hux finds himself caught in a battle between a priest and a demon too familiar for comfort.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A piece based on LittlestNova's pic: https://t.co/PfDa5IAUOR
> 
> I'm so happy I got the chance to work with such a wonderful, talented artist who's work has been inspiring me to write for this fandom since Day One. 
> 
> Also, a list of triggers for people who need to click out: 
> 
> -Demonic possession  
> -Hux grew up religious and his father used religion to abuse him.  
> -Snoke used religion as a reason to abuse Kylo and others.  
> -A demon molests its victim towards the end of the fic.  
> -A demon comes very close to using anti-semetic slurs.  
> -The idea of homophobia in religion, particularly Catholicism is touched upon
> 
> There will be a second chapter. Not sure why its showing as a oneshot

 

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.” 

The man sitting across from Armaz gave a slight nod and sipped at his still-too-hot chai tea.  He wasn’t what Armaz had been expecting, which was more frightening than comforting given the circumstances.  When he had arranged to meet with a priest, he assumed he would be meeting with an old man.  Some old, grandfatherly fellow with thin white hair, thick glasses and a kindly demeanour.  He hadn’t been expecting someone his own age, possibly younger, with a scar slashed across his face and a tattoo on his arm.  There was also a reminder of their appointment scribbled on his arm with a god damned sharpie, which did nothing to inspire confidence.

It was impossible for Armaz not to notice those things first.  They would have stood out even if the man wasn’t a priest.  On top of that, his dark, wavy hair was reaching shoulder length and his build was massive compared to everyone else in the coffee shop.  He drew attention, but thankfully that attention seemed to remain on him.  A couple of women would occasionally glance at him, and a middle aged man in the corner would give him a wary look, but none of them bothered with Armaz. 

He wanted to keep it that way.  Armaz had deliberately dressed as ordinarily as possible.  He made sure he wasn’t worth giving a second glance to, even going so far as to cover up his hair with a black newsy.  Unfortunately he couldn’t help his posture, which he knew was slumped, with his arms crossed protectively over his chest.  His latte was still too hot to drink, so he didn’t bother with it.  Ever since the incidents started, he hadn’t been in the mood to eat or drink anything.  Armaz found himself wondering briefly if he would even be able to finish the drink.  He knew he ought to, he had paid far more than a cup of coffee was worth, he just wasn’t sure if he would be able to muster up the stomach for it. 

He noticed the eyes of the priest on him, so Armaz added, “And thanks for not wearing the…you know…” 

He briefly uncrossed his arms to gesture to his own neck before folding his arms again.  He was surprised that even now he could barely feel his fingertips. 

“Collar?  I usually don’t wear it outside Church functions,” explained the priest, “I probably wouldn’t have worn it regardless.” 

Armaz nodded and looked around the little shop.  Since it was morning, it seemed there were a steady stream of people ordering drinks to go on their way to work.  There were only three other patrons in the bar, and two baristas working the counter.  That made five, discounting the dozens that were coming and going.  Would they overhear anything?  If they did he was going to think he was absolutely insane… 

“I’m going to have to ask you a few questions first,” said the priest, stirring his tea in an effort to cool it.  He looked up, “There’s an exorcist in every diocese, but none of the parishioners knows who it is.  Do you know why nobody knows which priest is an exorcist?” 

Armaz shook his head.  He had been baptized Catholic, and he had gone to a Catholic school, but aside from Christmas and Easter his parents never brought him to Mass, a tradition that he had kept as he had grown.  If he was asked to put his religion on a form he would say Catholic, and he wouldn’t deny that he was Catholic, but he really knew next to nothing about the faith he claimed to be a part of.  Perhaps if he did he wouldn’t have wound up like this. 

“Because if everyone knew who the exorcist was, they’d be harassed non-stop,” explained the priest, “By crazies, you know?  People calling about demons in their attic when it’s just a family of squirrels.  Assholes calling in an exorcist because a bunch of brown people with a different religion moved in next door.  This way, they call the parish office and we can filter out the hoaxes, the overreactions and the douche-baggery so I can focus on the real cases.” 

Starting slightly at the bizarre sound of a priest  _ swearing _ , Armaz gave another hesitant nod.  Were priests allowed to swear?  He had been sure that was a sin.  His father always told him it was when he was caught saying ‘damn’ or hell.’  The priest continued, “So I’m going to have to ask you to keep the fact that I’m the parish exorcist a secret, okay?” 

“Do you think I want this getting out?” asked Armaz sharply, glaring at the table.  He considered taking a stir stick from the cup off to the side, just as something to fiddle with the let out some of his nerves, but decided against it.  He still couldn’t feel his fingers. 

“Right,” said the priest with a slight roll of his eyes.  He tried to sip his tea again and quickly set it down.  It probably wasn’t ready to drink yet, if Hux had to guess the reason.  The priest looked at him seriously, “Now, I’m going to ask a few things that might offend you, but we’ve got to make sure this is real before we do anything drastic, okay?” 

Armaz nodded and hugged his elbows, “I understand…let’s get this over with.” 

“Are you taking any drugs?” asked the priest. 

“Melatonin to get to sleep sometimes.  Pain-killers for migraines,” replied Armaz quickly, “No hallucinogens.”    

“Any mental illness.” 

“Depression as a teenager.  Nothing that’s supposed to make me see things.” 

“Any history in your family?” 

“None on my father’s side.  I don’t know my mother’s.  My father took full custody of me when I was an infant, so I’ve never even met her.” 

“I’m not trying to be mean, but we can’t rule out that this is schizophrenia or something.  If you get the chance, it’d be worth it to see a doctor and get yourself checked out,” advised the priest. 

Armaz had predicted that these questions would come up, but they still stung.  He felt as if he was being treated like a liar, as some insane rambler who was crying absurd things to get attention.  Flushing slightly from embarrassment and frustration he reached for the satchel beside his chair.  He hoisted it up more forcefully than he meant to, banging it on the underside of the table in his hurry, and then slammed it beside his latte.  He opened the bag and pulled out a medical report with a trembling hand.  He flung it at the priest in frustration and sat back angrily in his chair, grunting, “I’m fine.” 

Arching his brow, the priest opened the folder and squinted at the doctor’s chicken scratch writing, ignoring the stats that nurses had written down about Armaz’s vitals.  He paid more attention to the interview that had been conducted and the scans that had been done on his brain.  Armaz grunted, shifting in his chair uncomfortably, “Those tests weren’t cheap, and my insurance didn’t cover most of them.” 

“Right, so you’re healthy and serious…” mumbled the priest, closing the folder and sliding it back to Armaz, “Were you awake when it happened?” 

Armaz gritted his teeth, hesitant to answer the question.  He shook his head, “I don’t know…it’s like I black out.” 

“Again, not meaning to offend,” said the priest, holding his hands up defensively, “But are you a hundred percent certain you weren’t dreaming?  Because people do dream about demons but they’re just that.  Dreams that can’t hurt you.” 

Armaz shook his head and bit back tears.  Why was this so difficult?  If it was a…a demon…was it his fault he was being attacked?  People often talked like the only people who were attacked by demons were bad ones, but if Hux remembered what little he had read of the bible, it was usually good people who were attacked.  Still, was it something he did?  The porn he would occasionally watch?  Not giving to charity at every opportunity?  The way his temper sometimes hurt people?  Lying on occasion when it suited him?  He felt…he felt dirty, like he was beyond saving.  Was it possible to save someone after a devil had gotten into their brain or mind or soul or whatever part of him was being attacked? 

If it was impossible, he wasn’t going to give up without a fight. 

He wiped at his eyes and shook his head, “If it is a dream, I’m attacking things in my sleep.  I’ve torn up two pillows, destroyed a night table…I…I had to give my cat away…” 

Armaz wiped his nose as he thought of Millie and tried not to meet the priest’s gaze, “Just…it’s temporary.  A friend’s taking her for a while…I said I was having carpets changed and she couldn’t be in the house.  I just…she wasn’t safe so…” 

He could see the priest nod in his peripheral vision before pulling a pen from the pocket of his leather jacket and stealing several napkins from the dispenser.  He began jotting something down as he spoke, “Okay, its okay.  So it wasn’t a one off incident?” 

“No…the first time I thought the same thing you did, that it was just a bad dream,” explained Armaz, “It happened a few nights in a row, so I made an appointment to see a doctor.  Then…then it happened in the middle of the day.  I was off work, thank god, just watching a movie then…then all I could see was fire.  I felt like I was on fire…then I was in my apartment, the coffee table was flipped over on the other side of the room…I normally can’t lift it.  I had to have someone help me get it up the stairs when I bought it.” 

“Okay…” said the priest, making a few more notes, “Did you ever hear any voices talking to you?  If there’s a spirit involved, did it identify itself to you?” 

Armaz closed his eyes.  He didn’t like thinking about it.  He didn’t like remembering that it had happened at all.  There hadn’t been a name, and he worried that if there wasn’t a name the priest wouldn’t help him.  He shook his head, “It was a male voice.” 

“Okay…” replied the priest, as if he was expecting more. 

“He didn’t give a name,” Armaz admitted, “He just said…he was using my mouth.  When I black out he…it controls me, in the visions.  I couldn’t stop it at all but his voice was coming out of me and he would say…he was commanding people to look at the sky.” 

The priest stopped writing and looked up at him.  He seemed different from before, much less sarcastic and nonchalant.  His brow furrowed and he asked in his deep voice, deathly serious,

“What people?” 

Armaz covered his face with his hands, “I couldn’t tell…they were on fire too…all the smoke…I couldn’t see.” 

The priest paused before finishing his notes, “Usually…demons give a name.  They’re pretty egocentric.” 

“So I’m just crazy,” muttered Armaz, rubbing at his temples. 

“I said usually,” corrected the priest, recovering some of his snark, “Sometimes they hold off, make a show of it.  Super extra.” 

He finished and reached for his tea, which seemed to have cooled to a reasonable temperature.  He took a long drink, made a humming noise, then set the cup down and continued, “Does it always happen in the same place or can it happen in lots of different places?” 

“My home…always my home,” replied Armaz. 

“That’s normal.  If it is a demon, it wants to scare you, take away the place where you feel most secure, make you feel alone.  Sometimes they attach themselves to a place instead of a person, so it might be good to get in contact with previous tenants and ask if anything weird happened,” explained the priest, “But we can’t rule out the possibility of a gas leak or something.  Would it be okay if I visited your place sometime?” 

“Yes, yes of course,” said Armaz.  He wished he could feel more relief at finally being believed, but if it was true, than he would be up against something he didn’t understand and couldn’t fight against on his own.  He felt like a helpless child asking his parents to check for a monster under his bed so he could sleep soundly again. 

“Right, before that, I’m going to give you a couple things to take home,” said the priest, reaching down to grab a shabby old backpack.  He pulled out a plastic bottle about the size of a hip flask, “This is holy water.  Don’t drink it.  Use your fingers to spritz it around every room in your apartment, especially the ones you sleep in.” 

Armaz gave a nod and tried to come to grips with the absurdity of the situation.  He was being given holy water, as if this were some bad horror film and he was about to go raid a vampire’s lair.  It felt ridiculous and he felt ridiculous for actually believing it as a last resort. 

He pulled out a pill bottle and set it down with a clatter on the counter, shaking it so the contents rattled for Armaz to hear, “Holy salt.  Don’t eat it.” 

“I figured…” muttered Armaz. 

“Same thing,” continued the priest, as if Armaz hadn’t spoken at all, “Sprinkle it in doorways.”  He set down something the size of a cigarette case, “Holy chalk.  Draw around your doors, windows and vents with it.  I’ll do it again when I come by if you want some reassurance and extra prayers.  Lastly…”  He pulled out a booklet and took a card from it, flicking it at Armaz as if he were dealing poker cards, “This guy is now officially your new best friend.” 

Turning the card over, Armaz found himself greeted with the picture of an angel, holding a pair of scales and a sword and crushing a demon under his sandaled foot.  Turning it back to the side with the writing, Armaz found that it was the prayer to Saint Michael.  The priest crossed his arms, nodding in the direction of the card, “You recite that; you’re punching Satan in the face.  You feel anything off or weird or if you get scared at all for any reason, say that.  Get it memorized.  Got it?” 

“And this will work?” asked Armaz, looking over the card and the small spiritual arsenal that had been deposited on the table. 

The priest leaned over the table slightly, “You want the story that will make you feel better, or cold hard truth?” 

Armaz prove his fingers into the palm of his free hand, keeping his arms tight around himself.  He ground his teeth as he debated it in his mind.  Since the priest said it, he was going to know that whatever the feel-good story was wasn’t the entire truth, that there could be something more sinister.  Did he want the details though?  Did he want the exact knowledge of what could happen constantly racing in his mind?  Would the details be worse than what his own mind would conjure in their absence? 

“Truth,” said Armaz finally, “I want the truth.” 

The priest nodded, leaning in closer so he could whisper, “If this doesn’t work right away, we’re going to annoy the shit out of it.  It’ll get angry and things will get worse.” 

Armaz swallowed hard on nothingness and forced himself to take a swig of his lukewarm latte.  He coughed slightly, having drunk too quickly and gotten most of the fluid down the wrong tube.  He kept a hand over his mouth as he spluttered.  Worse?  How could it get worse?  Like the movies with the pea soup and his head turning around a hundred-and-eighty degrees? 

“But…” Armaz finally choked, “We’ll beat it, right?  The devil always loses.” 

The priest sighed and reached over the table, placing a strong, heavy hand on Armaz’s thin shoulder, “Keep that faith, kid.  You’re going to need it.” 

  *** 

_ “Look up at the sky…”  _

It had been a few hours before Ben had met with Mr. Hux.  From the name Armitage and the complaint in question, Ben assumed he was dealing with someone middle-aged, at least.  Usually he got calls like this from older people.  He hadn’t been expecting someone his own age, maybe younger, looking like the very portrait of a lost soul.  He had certainly been dressing the part of a frightened wanderer with his black cap pulled over his eyes and cardigan pulled tight around his thin frame.  He had been so scared, shaking in his seat and barely able to drink his coffee. 

Ben stared up at the bathroom ceiling and listened to the faulty parochial house lights hum and click as if bugs were flying into the lights.  They really should get that looked at.  Maybe later.  He had Hux’s file with him, lying in an empty bathtub.  If an outsider saw him at that moment, they might have thought he was insane, but Ben had reasons for staking out the bathtub as his private space for thinking.  Firstly, it was the only room in the ancient house with a god damned lock on the door, and secondly, a long time ago, his father told him that the bathroom was the best place in a house for thinking.  Strangely, of all the advice his father had tried to give him over the years, locking himself in a bathroom to think was the only bit that really stuck with him. 

Of course, his father hadn’t advised him to get high.  Ben had made that part up by himself. 

It helped him to think more abstractly.  He felt like his brain light up completely and fired on all cylinders when the laws of reality slowly melted away.  Plus, when the logical side of the brain was working in overdrive, he found it more difficult to think about things like angels and demons.  Of course he had faith, of course he believed they existed, but there was a part of his brain that always tried to write them off.  Claim they weren’t real.  Ben always thought that not believing in them was more dangerous than jumping at shadows and bumps in the night.

They also scared him.  Even after all his exorcisms demons were scary.  Being high kept the fear away for a little while.   

The drugs shut that part of his brain down.  The ones that made him doubt and fear.  Now it was all real, very real, but not too frightening, and he had to figure out what to do about them.  He looked at Hux’s file again with the numbers and letters floating around the pages and crawling up the walls.  Ben had to pick them up and stick them back on the paper with his fingertip as he examined them.  Armitage Hux was from the parish, or at least he had been baptized and confirmed there.  A swirl of faces of regulars from Sunday and Saturday Masses returned to his memory.  He searched for one like Hux with his tired, red-rimmed eyes and fear-paled face.  Nothing came to mind.  Perhaps he didn’t go to Mass anymore, that was common enough for younger people. 

Demons typically weren’t aggressive with lukewarm types.  What would the point be?  If they were questioning, waffling, the best tactic was to use gentle persuasion until that lukewarm faith cooled, cooled, cooled and eventually died.  No, demons were usually aggressive with the faithful ones.  Ben recalled Hux as he grabbed a stray sentence and pressed it back into the file.  He didn’t strike Ben as particularly pious.  He hadn’t mentioned a prayer life, hadn’t asked to pray, and had been grateful that Ben hadn’t worn a collar.  He might have been wrong though.  Still, this didn’t seem like the devils he’d gotten to know over the years. 

It especially didn’t seem like the one who had told him to look up at the sky. 

Ben tried to tell himself at first that it was nothing.  It had to be a coincidence.  Humans didn’t become demons, no matter how demonic they acted.  It could have been a ruse, an elaborate scheme on the part of a clever devil to unnerve him, use the words that had shaped his youth against him.  It would be a cowardly move if that was it.  Using some poor kid as a pawn in a plot to get a priest. 

It was strange that they would use some poor kid when he had once been some poor kid.  As lost as Armitage Hux had looked staring across the coffee shop table at him.  Ben had a faith growing up, though it hadn’t been Catholic.  His mother and father had raised him to be a nice Jewish boy who strove to excel and minded his studies. 

He’d hated it. 

He’d hated not being the same as the kids in his class.  He’d hated being singled out at school meals as teachers scrambled to find him something kosher.  He’d hated the weird looks other kids and parents gave his family at Christmas assemblies.  He’d hated constantly feeling pressured to be perfect because everyone got their idea of what Jews were from the way he acted.  He’d hated the jokes.  He’d hated the comments on his nose.  On his eyes.  On the constant pressure to be perfect from those on the outside and to be as exceptional as his parents…he was never sure where that came from.  Depending on the day he had different people and circumstances he would blame.

He’d been a stupid kid who decided he hated his life and wanted to run away from home.  Most kids did that, Ben just happened to be one of the few who acted on that feeling.   

The first thing he did was buy a bacon breakfast sandwich.  He stood outside the McDonalds, drooling over the idea of hot food, but he stopped.  As much as his rebellious urges made him want to take his first bite and cast aside everything that had made him different…he couldn’t do it.  When he was sober he would reason that it was force of habit and he had been trained to keep kosher.  That was the sane answer that most people expected from a runaway Jewish kid. He was high though, so Ben was more willing to acknowledge the truth that in that moment he had felt something.  He knew that there was a higher power that was watching him, who he and his people had made a covenant with, and in that moment he knew he didn’t want to break it. 

He threw away the sandwich and ate a hash brown instead. 

At that moment he had considered turning back.  Going home, telling his parents what he had done, how he felt, and hoping they would forgive him.  He’d had a second thought though, that his parents would be disappointed, that he had behaved disgracefully, and he would never be able to live it down.  Everyone would remember and gossip about Ben Solo who had run away from his parents, who deserved a much better son than he turned out to be. 

So he kept going, even though looking back, it had been the dumbest decision he could have made.  He did odd jobs for money, or sat with a sign on busy streets with and a coffee cup in hand hoping for spare change, and though he was ashamed to admit it, he did steal when he became desperate for food or warm clothes.  He lived in shelters when he could find them and piles of garbage when he couldn’t.  Turning back really would have been better for him in the long run. 

It was when he started going to soup kitchens that he ‘found’ Jesus.  

Jesus, apparently, came as a mandatory side along with his cheap Campbell’s soup and staling bread.  There were bible verses everywhere on the walls, with prayers said before meals, and chatty missionaries trying to talk when all Ben really wanted was hot food.  Before, Ben had lumped most Christians together.  He knew there were Protestants and Catholics, and they got pissed as fuck if you called them the wrong one, but that was it.  It turned out there were more, maybe hundreds more types, and Ben got to know most of them in the kitchens. 

It was all the same.  Jesus loves blah, blah, blah.  He died for your blah, blah, blah.  Will welcome you to his blah, blah, blah.  Will be saved If you only believe in blah, blah, blah.  Ben didn’t want to be saved.  He wanted to be free, independent, everything a vulnerable kid always wants to be.  But before any of that, he wanted to eat his crappy soup in peace.

That was when someone new came in.  He was different from the rest.  The other missionaries were clean and pressed with their white shirts and ties.  Most of them even had little name tags.  Snoke was different.  He walked in the room and Ben could feel that there was something different about him.  He commanded a certain respect.  Groups of people parted like the red sea in Ben’s childhood pop-up books to let Snoke through.  Snoke didn’t say please or thank you for things.  He expected to be given what was due to him, and when it wasn’t given, he took what was his.  Snoke also chose Ben, out of everyone, to sit and eat with. 

“You look rough,” he had said. 

Ben had shrugged and probably muttered something close to, “Whatever.”  He couldn’t remember his exact reply. 

“You know this is a ruse, right?” 

It turned out Snoke knew all about their missionary game.  Lure in poor people with food and convert them.  They weren’t solving anything, they just kept things static with a captive, hungry audience.  Snoke was smarter than them.  Snoke knew all about how they were trying to lead people astray, how they didn’t offer true salvation, how Ben would feel just as trapped as he had with his parents if he sided with any of the others.  Snoke knew all about how alone Ben felt.  He had been ostracized as a child too.  Abused by his parents and taunted by his peers.  He had even made some of the same stupid mistakes that Ben had.  He assured Ben there was nothing wrong with him.  He hoped Ben could find happiness. 

Ben had really liked Snoke. 

Snoke made sense.  For a few moments Ben felt like he was a kid again, when all of the bible stories made perfect sense and he didn’t question things like an ark filled with animals or serpents offering women in gardens apples.  For the first time in years he felt clarity.  He knew there was a…even now Ben struggled to speak his name…but he knew there was a higher power, and Snoke made him visible again. 

Snoke wasn’t Jewish though, he was one of the many kinds of Christian.  At first, that had kept Ben away.  Jesus was a good man, he had done good things, he had nice ideas, but he wasn’t divine.  For the first few days that Snoke had very generously offered to treat Ben to coffee and sandwiches in a private little shop, that had been the main source of contention between them.  Snoke was very…zealous.  He was on fire like one of those preachers Ben had sometimes seen on TV.  All fire and brimstone, and he was worried about Ben.  At first Ben had been a bit insulted, but on the other hand…Snoke was the first person who seemed to genuinely care for him since he had run away from home.  It felt good to be cared about. 

They came to a sort of compromise.  Snoke asked Ben if he would like to live in his community.  They wouldn’t force him to convert.  Snoke explained that Ben was an exceptionally intelligent young man, and within a few days he would be able to decide for himself what truth was.  In the meantime though, Snoke cared, he didn’t want Ben living on the streets, it upset him to see someone so young and promising become rotting and stagnant.  Ben agreed.  He liked the terms, and he liked Snoke.  He figured there would be no harm in trying it.  It would be nice not to sleep in a shelter… 

…if he’d known what would happen to him he would have said no. 

“If I said it wasn’t your fault, would it make you feel better?” 

Ben turned and saw the Archangel Michael…Saint Michael now, he supposed, sitting on the bathroom counter.  He was leaning over, brow arched with his elbow on his knee and chin cupped in his hand.  If he had been sober, Ben would have recognized that his hallucination was a product of religious fervor and various elements of his subconscious trying to make sense of the various conversions he had gone through in his life.  He was high though, and when he was high his brain told him Saint Michael was a sort of nosey roommate who wouldn’t mind his own business and gave snarky advice on occasion. 

“It would,” muttered Ben. 

“Wouldn’t be true though,” said Michael, his fiery eyes narrowing slightly.  He was a Seraph with six wings, two on his back that dangled into the sink and two behind his ears that would occasionally dip over his eyes.  The first time Ben had seen them he’d had a giggling fit, and then another at the sight of the wings on his ankles, “You had every chance to turn back before you got in too deep.”   

“Are you going to help me or are you going to be a dick?” asked Ben. 

“We go over this every time you huff that brain poison,” said the angel sharply, “You made your own choices, but he was manipulating you.  He isolated you, spoon fed you his doctrine, made you feel grateful to him by giving you food, shelter, education and security.  In short you drank the Kool-Aid.” 

“I drank the Kool-Aid…” mumbled Kylo. 

Michael hopped down from the counter and ran the tap, pouring Ben a glass of purple flavoured sugar drink from the tap.  He passed it to Ben, “This can’t make you any more high than you already are.” 

Ben accepted it and drank it.  It definitely tasted like purple.  He looked up at Michael and grinned, “You look sort of like Hux.” 

“Does that surprise you?” asked Michael, leaning over the side of the tub, resting his head on his folded arms.  

“Well, yeah, usually you look like my mom,” replied Ben, patting the angel affectionately on the head. 

“And before that I looked like your father,” Michael reminded him, “I think I looked like your mother because you needed her.” 

Ben remembered.  After…the incident…his parents had found him.  They were distraught, they hadn’t seen him in years, and Ben had become a raving lunatic.  He’d shouted…he’d said unspeakable things to them.  He had been convinced that Snoke’s doctrine was correct, even after Snoke was gone and everything he said had been proven false, Ben had still believed in him. 

His father had shown more frustration than his mother with Ben’s behaviour.  They had both been patient and as kind as they could be, but Ben often thought that his mother had worked just slightly harder to help with his recovery.  She’d gone with him to his first few therapy sessions, offered to take him to scripture classes, and Ben had seen her at the phone and pouring over internet articles on their shitty 56k dial-up modem, trying to find any resource from any place that could possibly help undo the damage that Snoke had done. 

His father had been more distant, more quiet, a bit harder to figure out.  They didn’t talk much, just went on little trips together.  They didn’t debate theology, and decided it would be a forbidden topic when they went away.  They just quietly tried to rebuild the relationship that Snoke had dismantled over the years of Ben being a part of his cult.  He supposed that was why Michael started out looking like Han.  He had needed strength and support.  Over the years though he started looking like his mother, probably because he had needed a verbal ass-kicking for putting his family through so much shit. 

“So you’ve figured those two out.  Why do I look like Hux?”

Ben looked at the open file and grabbed hold of a sentence that tried to fly away.  He unclipped Hux’s confirmation photo and held it up next to Michael.  They were both redheads with green eyes, a trait that neither of Ben’s parents shared.  He grinned slightly, “Maybe because he’s a cutie.” 

“You’re dumb when you’re high,” muttered Michael, looking at the file, “I was thinking more along the lines that you’re feeling less torn apart.” 

Ben’s most recent conversion had probably been the strangest.  His mother had found a twelve-step style program run by a Catholic church a few counties over that was able and willing to help.  She had practically dragged him there by the ear, and when they arrived he snapped and argued and told everyone they were…they were going to hell…but after multiple sessions, trips to a psychiatrist, support from his parents, and even his uncle who had been dragged back into the family at the constant behest of his sister, Ben had recovered.  He’d had a few breakdowns, his world briefly shattering when he was finally, finally able to admit that Snoke had been wrong, but his family had been there to help him pick up the pieces. 

In spite of that though, he hadn’t been able to go back.  Ben wondered at first if it was because he was just too damaged or just felt too ashamed to go back to his old faith and traditions.  It felt like that moment where he had refused to eat the bacon sandwich.  He felt a sort of truth in his heart that he wasn’t supposed to be there, that he was wanted, needed, for a different purpose. 

His mother hadn’t exactly taken it well when he said he was looking into Catholic seminaries. 

“Really?” she snapped, looking over the rim of her half-moon shaped reading glasses before asking, “Are you fucking kidding me?” 

She heaved a sigh, covered her eyes with her hand, shook her head and said, “Only if I get to visit campuses with you and make sure it’s not another death-cult.” 

Ben knew what his faith had meant to his parents, what their hopes and aspirations had been for him.  He knew that this was going to let them down, and that if he not only changed his religion, but became a priest, it would mean none of their dreams for him would be fulfilled.  No grandkids, no carrying on family traditions, and a really weird winter holiday schedule.  They had accepted it though.  They were willing to let him go and do what he felt was right, even if they didn’t agree with him.  He and his mom debated over theology together enough for Ben to know there were things that they were never agree on, but everything was okay.  They didn’t disown him like his teenage self was so convinced they would.  They didn’t like it, but they had accepted it, and they had accepted him. 

That said, he was still torn apart on occasion.  Sometimes he would wonder if becoming Catholic was the right choice, and if he should have returned to his roots.  He wondered if he had done it because of Snoke or childhood bullies who had instilled a sense of self-loathing in himself.  He wondered if the priests were secretly trying to brainwash him again, just like Snoke had.  He wondered if he would see his parents in heaven if they had different religions.  Sometimes Judaism would make more sense than anything in the world and he mentally kicked himself for not going back… 

…then he would think the opposite.  He would think about how much Catholicism also made sense to him and how much good he was doing for other people.  He thought about the peace he had finally felt with himself when it dawned on him that he believed the same things that the priests who had helped him believed.  He remembered how he had become a bridge of their communities, fostering relationships and promoting peace and understanding between both of them and that maybe, just maybe, that was what his true purpose had been all along.  That his suffering had an end, a reason, a meaning, and this was it.  He was meant to endure that pain so he could learn from it and help people by guiding and protecting them. 

“A bit,” Ben finally replied. 

Michael tapped him on the nose and sparkles seemed to fly out of his fingertip like fairy-dust, “Good.  You always overthink things.  So why did you change me?  Why do I look like Armitage Hux?” 

Ben turned and patted his guardian angel and patron saint on the head, “Because he’s a cutie.” 

Michael rolled his eyes, “I’d appreciate it if you took me a bit more seriously.  I’m the Commander of the Armies of the Lord, you know.” 

Ben heard a bang on the door and the angry voice of the Deacon ringing through, bringing little dragons shooting under the door, “Mass is in five minutes!  What are you  _ doing  _ in there!?” 

Michael squashed the dragon under his foot as it tried to come into the tub.  He looked down at Ben in disapproval, “Another ‘high’ Mass, is it?” 

“Yup,” said Ben, able to feel how stupid the grin on his face was. 

Michael rolled his eyes again, “Just don’t mix your Latin and Hebrew like last time.” 

  ***  

The priest smelled funny.  Armaz convinced himself that it was the incense that they must use at the church.  If memory served, priests used a special kind of smoky incense during certain masses.  Or was it all of them?  Armaz could only remember Christmas and Easter services, so he had no idea really.  In any case, the way his nose wrinkled as he answered the door must have tipped the priest off to the fact that he was less than impressed with his scent. 

“Sorry, it’s something I use for meditation,” said the priest.  He seemed tired, and his eyes were looking slightly red around the edges. 

Armaz stepped out of the doorway, “So…how does this work?” 

“Nothing scary or intense,” assured the priest, kicking off his shoes and stepping inside.  He was wearing the shirt, but the white edge of the flexible, plastic collar was poking out of his breast pocket.  Armaz guessed he must have come from some sort of service.  The priest continued, “I’m just going to spend a night on your couch, and we’ll see if anything happens.” 

“What if it doesn’t?” Armaz asked in a hushed voice, “I’m not lying.  If nothing happens tonight…” 

The priest looked up at him.  Despite being tired he seemed to be trying to look sympathetic, “Trust me, if there’s something here, I’m going to piss it off royally, and it’s going to make sure we know it.” 

Armaz gave another uncertain nod.  He didn’t like this.  He didn’t like to be the one to make a move like this.  If he was given an option, he preferred to redirect, to watch and wait for a weakness, and then exploit it as much as possible.  He couldn’t see any weaknesses though.  All he knew was there was something more powerful than he was, something he was completely unequipped to fight, forcing him to rely on this stranger who smelled foul, spoke crassly and barely seemed priestly at all. 

The priest closed the door behind himself and inspected it, “You used the chalk?” 

“Yes…” said Armaz hesitantly.

“Good.  We use it for house blessings.  A lot of people do it every year during the Epiphany,” explained the priest, looking at the chalk markings Armaz had made a few hours earlier, “Do you feel any better?” 

“I feel like I might as well be wearing a tinfoil hat,” muttered Armaz, “Sorry, this just all seems like something out of a bad horror movie…” 

“But it’s not a movie, you felt it,” the priest reminded him, “I know a lot of this probably seems sort of hokey, but I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe it works.” 

Armaz gave a slight nod, “Come in…try not to mind the mess.” 

He’d cleaned up after his…spells…as much as he could.  He could pick up broken china and clean up debris from pillows, but some things were impossible for him.  The coffee table was still wedged against the wall, flipped end over end, too heavy for Armaz to move by himself.  His home, normally neat and orderly seemed more like an asylum.  He’d pre-emptively removed anything glass or china.  He only used plastic, blunt cutlery.  He couldn’t move the couch, but he had managed to get some extra padding, and children’s play-mats that he had successfully fixed to the walls in case he ran into them.  He’d given anything breakable or potentially dangerous to Mitaka, someone from work that he trusted, using the excuse that carpeting and renovations were being done, and he just needed someone to store them for a couple of days.  Thankfully Mitaka had an empty garage and no cat allergies…

The priest walked in, looking about and actually nodding his approval, “It’s fine, this is perfect actually.  Sometimes people hurt themselves if they run into something during a fit.  You’ve kept a pretty level head.” 

“It just doesn’t feel real…” mumbled Armaz. 

“I know, it feels really strange,” the priest confirmed.  He set his backpack by the couch and leaned against it, “But right now, we’re just going to wait.” 

Armaz paused for a moment, taking time to soak in the ludicrous things that were about to come out of his mouth, “You’re not going to…do any chanting?  Go on a procession through the house?” 

“Get a cross and start shouting, ‘The Power of Christ Compels You’?” asked the priest.  He grinned slightly, “There are prayers I can say, but until I can determine whether you’re the one who’s being targeted or if it’s your apartment after all, all we can do is sit tight.” 

“Sit tight?” repeated Armaz. 

“We could play cards, I brought a deck.  Cards are pretty harmless,” said the priest, “And I’ve got a portable radio if it feels too quiet.” 

Armaz pursed his lips.  He didn’t want any of that.  He wanted…he wanted to pray.  He hadn’t really felt the urge since he was a small child and was more inclined to believe in things like angels.  Angel of love, my guardian dear…that prayer he used to say before he went to sleep.  He barely remembered it, along with the Lord ’s Prayer.  He knew the Hail Mary, but he doubted that he knew how to say a proper rosary anymore.  He had no idea how to pray anymore, not properly, but he felt in this moment that it was all he could do. 

“You want to pray together?” asked the priest. 

Armaz nodded, clutching at his elbows again. 

“Do you have a rosary?” asked the priest. 

“I think so...” said Armaz, wondering where he might have hidden one away, “There’s one, a family heirloom.  I think it’s in a chest under my bed.” 

“It’s not doing you much good there,” said the priest with a good natured laugh, “How about other things?  Do you have a crucifix in your bedroom?” 

“No, I had one when I was a child, but I left it when I moved out,” admitted Armaz. 

“I wasn’t sure if you did.  It’s alright, I brought one with me,” said the priest, “We can set it up in your room before you go to sleep.  Don’t worry.  If something happens I’ll be down the hall.” 

“But!” Armaz protested.  He didn’t want to sleep alone.  Not with this thing possibly inside him.  He tried again, less urgently, “But if you’re in the same room you can respond more quickly.” 

The priest gave a slight sigh, “I know how you feel, but it’s a bad idea.  You know priests are celibate, right?” 

“I’m not implying any of that!” exclaimed Hux, flushing slightly at the implication. 

“Mhmm,” said the priest with a slight smirk.  He forced himself to become more serious when Armaz glowered at him, explaining, “Look, it’s nothing to do with you.  I know you’d respect my boundaries, even if we wound up sharing a bed.  I don’t doubt that at all, but demons know we’re celibate.  If we’re in the same room and it gets the jump on us while I’m asleep…I don’t think I have to explain what it would try to do.” 

Armaz gave a slight nod.  He wasn’t going to give up though.  He couldn’t stand the thought of lying, pinned beneath his sheets with fear, waiting for something awful to happen, “Then could you stay with me until I fall asleep?” 

The priest nodded, conceding with that cocky grin of his, “I’d be a pretty crappy priest if I couldn’t keep a vigil.” 

Armaz frowned slightly.  He’d always had an inkling that he’d preferred men over women, and the priest was doing nothing to convince him otherwise.  The way he grinned seemed to make his insides melt like butter.  The melted void was almost immediately filled with fear, and then a sickening sense of guilt.  This was a priest.  He wouldn’t be interested.  Being attracted to him was wrong.  It was probably part of the reason why the demon had selected him to be haunted.  He couldn’t allow him to think those sorts of thoughts, not about a priest… 

The priest put a hand on his shoulder, “We’ll get your room set up, say some prayers, then what do you say we order a pizza or something?” 

Armaz tried to ignore the pleasant warmth that seeped through his cardigan under the other man’s touch.  He spoke quietly, “I have a Chinese place on speed-dial.” 

“Chinese it is,” said the priest. 

Armaz followed the priest through his apartment, feeling a little bit like he had when he’d needed to call in a plumber.  He watched as an expert took care of the problem for him, curious, trying to learn something from the experience.  Kylo started with his bedroom, mounting a crucifix over his bed and sprinkling holy water around the room and murmuring soft prayers under his breath.  He watched carefully, looking for any sign of something supernatural happening, but couldn’t find any.  No sparks or sparkles, no blood coming from the walls, no voices, nothing. 

The priest re-blessed the entrance to his apartment, speaking in another language that didn’t quite sound Latin.  After their small procession through the house, the priest asked, “Did you call the Chinese place?” 

“N-No…” said Armaz, startled by the sudden question, “I’ll go do that…” 

“I’m more or less finished, so I think we can get through a rosary in the time it takes for the delivery guy to show up.  Or if you want to hold off, we can order when we’re done,” reasoned the priest, “If you can’t find yours you can have one of mine.  Youth Group kids make them for me all the time.” 

“If you don’t mind,” said Armaz, who wasn’t sure he wanted to tear apart his room searching for something that might not even be there. 

“Alright, living room’s probably best,” said the priest. 

Armaz followed once again and watched the priest to figure out what he needed to do.  Apparently sitting was fine, he didn’t have to kneel.  The priest lead him through the complicated prayers, one at the beginning that Armaz certainly wasn’t familiar with, but he picked up on the responses to the Our Fathers and Hail Marys quickly enough.  They got through the small section at the beginning and finished the first group of ten.  The priest said a prayer that began with ‘Glory be’ that sounded familiar, and then another prayer that Armaz hadn’t heard of before. 

After the second group of ten he tried to say them along with the priest, stumbling over words as he tried to remember and recite at the same time.  By the third he was getting better, then with the fourth he was confident that next time he would be able to do it almost perfectly. 

Then his jaw clicked shut. 

The priest arched his brow when Armaz’ voice suddenly cut itself off with a grunt of surprise.  He could feel his own eyes going wide as he gripped at his own jaw, trying to get his mouth to open. 

“Stop, stop!” said the priest, raising his voice slightly, “Don’t scratch, you’ll hurt yourself.” 

Armaz let out a whimper.  He couldn’t open his mouth.  It was like someone had stuck cement between his teeth.  He couldn’t open his mouth to speak at all.  He could move his lips, curl them, and his tongue was still loose but his mouth wouldn’t open. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay…” said the priest, now lowering his voice and trying to keep calm.  He cupped Armaz’ face and asked, “Who are you?” 

Armaz tried to answer that the priest already knew who he was, but his mouth wouldn’t move.  The priest continued, “How many of you are there?” 

Armaz knew his eyes had gone even wider when he realized the priest wasn’t talking to him at all. 

The priest’s voice became more aggressive as he practically growled, “In the name of God I command you to tell me your name.” 

Armaz let out a shout as his jaw was released.  He panted, looking around the room.  He gripped the rosary by its plastic, pastel coloured beads and looked up at the priest, his voice finally betraying his desperation, “…what happened to me?” 

“It ran away,” said the priest.  Before Armaz could finish, the priest gripped his hands with the rosary between them, “Does this hurt you?” 

Armaz shook his head. 

“Does it hurt when you pray?”

He shook his head again. 

“Then we’re going to finish.  Something doesn’t want you praying, but we’re not going to let it win.  We’re stronger, do you understand?” 

Armaz bit back a whimper and felt tears prick at his eyes.  Some…some evil thing had touched him, gotten inside of him and stopped his body from moving.  It could touch him.  It was the first time it had been so…so physical.  Everything else had just been visions, he had blacked out, had nightmares and woke up to the aftermath.  He had never been aware of this thing that was manipulating him and working through him. 

The priest let go of his hands and reached up to brush a thumb under his eyes.  He repeated more gently, “We’re going to finish.  It’s okay to cry, but we have to finish.” 

A disgusting sob escaped his lips as Armaz nodded.  He blubbered through the rest of the prayers, constantly wiping his eyes and looking around as if he might find what had attacked him.  As soon as the prayers were finished he let out a sob, “It’s inside me!” 

He felt the priest’s hand on his shoulder, “If it is, we’re going to get it out.  Do you still have that card?” 

It was in his wallet.  He’d had a look over the prayer card and left it in his wallet so he wouldn’t lose it.  He couldn’t feel his hand as he tried to work it out of his back pocket.  Finally succeeding he shook the contents over the table, unable to manage the fine strength and movements it took to pull cards from their slots.  The priest, took it from him and began arranging the contents on the table for him until he found the card. 

He felt so helpless and…and violated.  He didn’t think he was a bad person, let alone an evil one.  He made mistakes, he did bad things sometimes, but he felt that overall he had always tried to do what he felt was right.  What could he have done to bring this on himself?  Perhaps…perhaps he was just always… 

“This one next,” said the priest, “We’re going to say this one, and then we’ll stop for now.  Can you do that?” 

Armaz nodded and took the card in his hand, balancing it on his palm.  He wiped his eyes again and blubbered his way through it.  The words he was saying frightened him.  Acknowledging that there were demons and battles he couldn’t control frightened him more than anything he had ever faced in his life.  At least before he could make plans, figure things out.  This…there was nothing he could do about this but chant the words the priest gave to him and hope it was enough to keep this invisible, evil creature away from him. 

“Alright, you did great, really,” assured the priest, patting him on the back, “How about we call that place you mentioned earlier and get something to eat.  We’re going to have a bit more to talk about.” 

Armaz nodded and started to fumble through his pocket to get his home, “In the contacts list…” 

He passed the phone to the priest.  He couldn’t believe the first thing they were going to do after…after that was order cheap Chinese food.  The priest seemed so calm, completely undisturbed by what had happened.  Armaz supposed he needed to be, but it seemed…disturbing.  Calmness was understandable, but they way he seemed to take the whole thing in stride was eerie.  The only way Armaz could imagine that this would become so tolerable for him was that the priest had seen this so many times, faced so much evil, that he couldn’t be bothered to be frightened anymore. 

As he picked up the phone and started asking questions about the menu, like nothing had happened.  Armaz clutched the rosary’s brightly coloured plastic beads.  It really felt like a child had made it.  He could even feel a dollop of hot glue near the center bead.  The priest just kept chatting away about cooking oils, meats and if all the grills were cleaned between the frying of different meats.  Armaz on the other hand kept looking about for any sign of the thing that had touched him and held his mouth closed.  

The priest hung up, “Well, that’s that.”  

Armaz felt like punching him.  He was angry at his nonchalance.  He was angry that this wasn’t being given a second thought, like it was mundane and expected.  

“It’s going to be a little while, and we need to talk,” said the priest.  He handed Armaz his phone, “Because that thing is either attached to you or to the house.  Part of this process is figuring out which it is.”  

Armaz felt less like hitting him now.  He sighed and wiped his eyes, feeling crusted tears on the dark circles beneath them.  He sniffed before asking, “What do you need to know?”  

“You asked about the house?” continued the priest.  Armaz nodded and the priest added, “Anything about gas leaks?  Anything out of the ordinary?”  

Armaz shook his head.  The priest asked, “Any weird tenants?  Anyone who did anything like seances, tarot readings, or something like witchcraft?”  

“Is this the part where you tell me that I have demons because I read Harry Potter?” countered Hux.  

“Most things are pretty harmless.  Fantasy books, meditating, incense, aromatherapy...where it gets dangerous is calling on spirits.  If you or someone else around you was calling on demons or spirits as part of a ritual, that establishes a line of communication.  It’s not a guarantee, but it’s like leaving your front door unlocked.  Nothing might happen, or someone can get in,” explained the priest, sinking back into the couch, “So, no, Harry Potter’s fine.  Easier than Lord of the Rings too.”  

Armaz shook his head, “I’ve never even so much as looked at a Ouija Board.  Nothing like that was ever allowed in my home.”  

“Okay, and the apartment?” asked the priest.  

“It’s a new building, there haven’t been many tenants before me.  I don’t think so,” said Armaz.  

The priest nodded, “You mentioned not knowing your mother.  Sorry, but this is the part where I have to ask about your childhood.  I’m also going to get the psychologist on my team to have a listen.”  

“You have a team?” said Armaz.  

“Yeah.  I’ve got a psychologist,local historian and a medical doctor, but you took care of that part.  We work together to figure out if there’s a case, and once we know what we’re dealing with, we either get the person the help they need, or we can use what we know to get to the root cause,” said the priest.  

“So...someone either invited a demon into this room or...or into me...so how do we get it out?” asked Armaz.  

“Depends on the demon,” said the priest, “And how many there are.  We also can’t rule out a ghost.  Ghosts can’t possess, but they can trash a room while you’re blacked out.”  

“There’s ghosts too!?” exclaimed Armaz.

“Human spirits in purgatory trying to solve unfinished business?  Yep,” said the priest, “So, anybody die recently who had it in for you.”  

“No and you’re being ridiculous!  Please at least pretend to take this seriously!” shouted Armaz.  

The priest looked down at him and sighed, “Sorry.  It’s how I deal, but you couldn’t have known that.  Right, now I’m asking you honestly and seriously, what were your parents like.”  

Armaz considered getting up and crossing the room.  It was what he normally did when questions became too close for comfort.  He didn’t like talking about his parents.  He shook his head, “My step-mother raised me.  She couldn’t have children, I was born by my father’s mistress.  She tried not to hold it against me but...I think I reminded her of what she couldn’t have.”  

“Did she say that?” asked the priest.  

Armaz shook his head and sighed through his nose, “It’s just...one of those things you know.  I felt like a dress-up doll.  Something that was brought on outings to be showed off and admired, but when we were home, when there was nobody to play mother for, I was sent to my room and told to amuse myself.”  

“And your father?” asked the priest.  

Armaz closed his eyes, “He...he abused me.  I can admit it now.  I mentioned the depression, that was what caused it.   I was punished for anything short of perfection, and I was never perfect and...he did die recently.  A month ago.”  

The priest nodded, “I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t miss him,” Armaz huffed.  

“No, I mean I’m sorry he hurt you,” corrected the priest.   

“Why?  You weren’t there,” said Armaz.  

The priest placed a hand on the back of his neck, just beneath his hairline, “That’s exactly why I’m sorry.”  

He kept his hand there for a while, squeezing and massaging lightly before sliding up to scratch his scalp.  It was only then that Armaz noticed that in addition to memos written all over his arms, the priest seemed to have a few tattoos.  He wasn’t sure if priests were allowed to have tattoos or not.  He broke the silence, his large fingers still moving lazily through Armaz’s hair, “We’re here to help people who need it most.  I hate it whenever I’ve found someone who’s slipped through the cracks.”  

“Do you give them head rubs too?” asked Armaz

“Nah, just you...and this one guy I know,” replied the priest, “My name’s Ben by the way.”  

“Armaz,” the redhead replied automatically.  

The priest’s brow arched slightly, “Your file says Armitage.”  

“It’s a nickname.  Armitage is too long, so I tell people to call me Armaz.  Otherwise they try to call me Armie,” he explained.  

“Makes sense,” said Ben, “I have the opposite problem.  Everyone seems to think my name is Benjamin.  I was actually named after a family friend who went by Ben.  Anyways, I know it’s a tough subject, but can we talk about your father for a little bit?  Do you ever think you can see him or smell him?”  

“No,” replied Hux.  

“Ghosts are usually fairly passive, but we have to cover all the bases,” explained Father Ben, “Though...the spells you have.  I’d like to have another doctor have a look at you, especially your brain and your jaw.  Don’t worry, if you can’t afford it I’ll foot the bill.  We have a budget for this sort of thing.”  

“You still don’t believe me?” said Armaz, exasperated.  

“I do...you’ve at least heard of the Exorcism of Emily Rose, right?  It’s based on a real case.  Basically what happened was that it was determined that the family and priests involved hadn’t done enough to help the girl who was possessed.  The priest and the family wound up in jail, and now people wonder if there were really demons involved or not because of the lack of exams.  This is as much for my ass as it is for yours,” sad the priest firmly.  

Armaz nodded as he continued, “I’m going to have my psychologist friend have a talk with you, once again, if you can’t afford it, I’m covering it.  I’m also going to have a historian ask some questions about the building.  Owners will probably have an easier time with questions coming from a historian than from a priest asking about demons.”  

“Probably...:” agreed Armaz.

“So...when was the last time you came to church?” asked Father Ben.  

“Easter,” Armaz replied.  

“You should probably consider coming back.  I can give you a mass schedule.  If you do have a demon problem, it’s in your best interest to go to confession.  Also, I want you to go to mass while I’m there.  That way if something happens, I can take care of you, okay?” 

Armaz gave another nod and ran a hand along his jaw.  He had been certain that it had been something supernatural, but was it all in his head?  If it was a demon it hadn’t responded to the priest’s questions and...maybe his jaw did just click into place.  That could happen, Armaz supposed.  People’s joints sometimes froze or seized up.  Without knowing his mother’s medical history, it could even prove to be something genetic.  

“I hope you like what I ordered.  I can’t really handle pork or shellfish, and I wasn’t really sure what you wanted,” admitted the priest.  

“Orange Chicken?” asked Armaz.  

“Uh, yeah, I think I ordered that,” said Father Ben. 

Armaz wasn’t sure if he had the stomach for it or not, but it was one of his go-to comfort foods.  The smell of it might help.  He nodded, “I’ll keep you around then, I guess.”  

 

  ***   

 

For all Ben liked being a priest, his least favorite part was preaching.  

At first,it had been any form of public speaking.  Any time he saw someone on a public forum, whether it was a politician or someone giving a TED talk, it reminded him of Snoke.  Right after the...after it happened, when Kylo was reminded of Snoke he become aggressive, vengeful, determined to draw attention to the martyrdom of the man who mentored and cared for him.  When he began to heal, seeing people give talks on tv or online was...it did something to him.  He would be okay, then someone in a movie would give a passionate speech and Ben would want to hide.  He felt so deeply afraid and ashamed of what he had done that he would start to panic.  It got so bad one time that he had to duck out of a theater and hide in a bathroom because the hero in the movie he was watching gave a big damned speech.  

It was more than just emotions sometimes.  Sometimes it was like he was transported back to the compound.  Smelling the wood and plaster and hearing Snoke’s words ringing fiery and profound in his ears.  Then he would realize none of it was true.  Not a single thing Snoke had to say had a good reason or a scrap of moral fiber.  It had all been self glorification, leading innocent people to...what happened.  

Ben’s greatest fear was that he would become that.  Someone whose words brought people to hell and ruin.  During his training he had nearly failed homiletics because of his awkward delivery and refusal to make anything relatable.  Other seminarians were happy to tell anecdotes to make their sermons more relatable, or speak their own opinions freely, but Ben couldn’t.  He didn’t want to be Snoke.  He wanted people to be safe, comforted and well-guided, not coming to Mass specifically for him.  The idea of anyone being drawn to him that way was terrifying.  

“Is that why you’re smoking again?” asked Michael.  

Ben sighed, “You usually don’t pop up unless I take something stronger.”  

“You drank the ‘kool-aid.’  That stuff can mess with your brain for years,” replied Michael. He looked at Ben harshly, “You know they can exploit that, don’t you?  You’re more easy to deceive if your head isn’t on straight.  They can appear as me or my brothers, you know.  You should guard yourself, even around me.”  

“Unless you’re the real deal,” argued Ben.  

“I’m a figment of your distressed and agitated mind,” said Michael, flopping onto the bed on his side in a decidedly graceless fashion, “That’s what you’re always telling me, at least.”  

Typical sarcasm.  Ben reached over and ran a hand over the angel’s wing, one of the big ones on his back.  Michael continued, “You’re nervous because he’ll be listening to you.”  

“He hasn’t been to a church in years.  I really don’t know what he’ll think,” said Ben.  

“You’re afraid he’ll become infatuated with you, and that infatuation will become something evil,” replied the angel simply, “He’ll fall for the brave, handsome priest who came to help him, and then become violently obsessed with a strong leader like you did.”  

Ben’s hand stopped and he sighed.  He didn’t want that for Hux, or anyone.  What he went through with that extreme indoctrination was awful.  Nobody should go through it.  He was always terrified that if he took the pulpit and said the wrong thing he might become another Snoke.  

“You won’t.  You know your words aren’t meant to be for your own glorification.  That’s good,” said the angel, “You became a priest to save them.  You became an exorcist to help the possessed, like when that man gripped you like a demon and wouldn’t let you go.  This is a selfless act.  It’s good.”  

Ben took comfort in the words as the angel grinned and asked, “Do you know what’s better though?”  

Ben shrugged and the angel grinned, “Waking up ten minutes before the alarm and taking a little time to relax in bed.  Of course, you’re not in a bed.  Are you?” 

He woke up to the smell of toast and buttery eggs in a pan.  

Looking around Ben realized that he was still in Armitage Hux’s apartment, not preparing for a homily in his own room.  He was, in fact, on the couch.  He had slept through the night, meaning nothing had tried to wake him or the Hux kid up.  What did he call himself?  He should have jotted it down on his arm.  Arm...Armaz?  Was that it?  

The sound of sizzling wafted into the little sitting room and Ben felt his stomach begin to rumble.  He definitely hadn’t ordered enough food last night.  He still ate like a teenager, having a metabolism that miraculously hadn’t slowed much after he’d ht twenty five.  Hux hadn’t eaten much, but despite that, Ben had plowed his way through most of the little styrofoam take-out boxes.  In fact, he’d never picked those up like he said he would after Hux went to sleep.  Ben supposed one out of two wasn’t bad.  He didn’t clean up, but he had stayed with Hux until he was fast asleep.  

“I take it you slept through the night,” Ben called out.  

He heard a gasp and something large strike something metallic.  He heard bare feet stomping towards him as Hux called, “You nearly took five years off my life!”  

“Sorry…” Ben muttered, hauling himself to his feet.  

“Really… thought something had snuck in,” said Hux, peering around the corner.  Ben could see he had a very, very large kitchen knife in his hand.  

Ben nodded, it was hardly the first time someone’d pulled a knife on him, accidentally or otherwise.  He hauled himself up off the couch, his back stiff, “Did you sleep okay?”  

“Not really, I kept waking up, I couldn’t really rest,” admitted Hux, “But if you were asking about visions or nightmares, I didn’t have any of those.”  

“That’s good,” replied Ben.  He pulled his phone out of his pocket and saw a blinking light, indicating new messages.  He turned it on and checked the battery.  His phone was nearly dead, but the psychologist on his team had sent him a message.  He checked it quickly before turning the screen off.  Did he bring his charger?  He brought his usual kit for house calls, but had he forgot his phone charger?  He shook his head, “Are you free today?”  

“Yes, why?” asked Hux, disappearing back into the kitchen.  

Ben followed him at a lazy pace, “Because my psychologist just got back to me.  Someone cancelled, so there’s an opening if you want to get in right away.”  

He entered in time to see Hux nod, fixated on the omelette he was making.  Ben felt his mouth water until he saw the little shrimps in the mix.  He sighed.  It seemed there was always food he couldn’t eat when he was at his hungriest.  Hux folded the omelette and looked over at him, “Want some?”  

“I don’t eat shellfish,” admitted Ben.  

“How about cheese?  Can you eat that?” asked Hux.  

“Yeah, cheese is fine,” replied Ben, “So, can  message her about that appointment?”  

“What time?” asked Hux.  

“Two.  I can take you if you need a ride,” offered Ben.  

Hux plated his own omelette and gave the pan he used a quick scrub.  He returned to the fridge for more eggs and cheese and Ben saw that the redhead must have a cooking hobby.  It was full of fresh foods and plastic tubs with dates and labels with masking tape, just like in a restaurant’s  kitchen.  He began cracking more eggs as the toast popped, “Could you get that?”  

“Sure,” said Ben, looking for where Hux kept his plates, “And the appointment.”  

“I’ll go, on the condition you help me with a few errands,” said Hux.  

That was a funny way of putting it, as if Ben taking him to the doctor was like Hux was doing him a favor.  It was clearly the other way around.  He humoured the redhead and asked, “What sort of errands?”  

“I want to pick up some things for my house, pictures or something.  My step-mother used to own them.  You know, the ones with saints,” said Hux.  

“Yeah, I think I know the ones you mean,” said Ben.  

“I don’t really know where I can find them,” said Hux, “But if this is a...a demon, I want to give it as hard a time as I can.  You were right last night.  Cowering won’t solve anything.”  

Ben easily found the plates and where Hux kept butter, jelly and peanut butter.  He started scraping it over the toast as Hux made the second omelette with plenty of cheese and herbs.  He seemed like a nice kid all in all.  A good guy who loved his cat and liked to cook.  It really did make Ben wonder; why him?  If a demon was targeting him, and not his house, what would have caused that to happen?  Any sort of sin was seen as an invitation, but at the same time, it didn’t seem like a demon’s style to go for someone so lax in their faith.  If Hux was at least a regular church-goer, Ben would have an easier time understanding.  

“It’s ready, I’ll bring them over,” said Hux.  

“Okay, I’ve got your toast,” said Ben.  

He carried the toast over to the little kitchen table.  It seemed Hux only had one for himself and one for a guest...or maybe his cat.  Hux set his plate down in front of him but something seemed off.  Hs movements jerked slightly, as if there was a spasm in his wrist.  Ben arched his brow and watched him sit down, setting his own omelette and cutlery on the table.  He sat down and assumed an incredibly relaxed position, a confident one, one that didn’t really fit a kid who was scared and worried.  

Ben looked him over, “Who are you?”  

“Presently, or are you asking in plural?” asked the spirit inside Hux.  It didn’t even sound like Hux was the one speaking.  His accent was different, and his voice was deeper, smoother, less crisp and eloquent, “Didn’t think you would turn out to be such a moron.”  

Moron was one of the tamer things he’d been called by a demon.  They seemed to love antisemitic slurs.  Ben calmly took up the salt shaker and sprinkled a little on his breakfast.  He spoke evenly, “You need to leave, and you didn’t answer the question.”  

“I’m insulted that you don’t remember,” said the spirit.  

“Ghosts can’t possess people, and humans don’t become demons,” said Ben flatly.  

“No, not in your current religion they don’t.  Still trying different flavours before you settle into one?” asked the spirit.  

“You aren’t answering my question,” insisted Ben.  

The spirit looked down at the plate Hux had fixed for himself before asking, “Salt?”  

Ben looked at the shaker.  He made the sign of the cross over it before passing it to the spirit, “Be my guest.”  

The spirit narrowed Hux’s eyes at Ben before going for the pepper instead, “Not bad for a fake priest.”  

“Who are you and how many of you are there?” demanded Ben.  

The spirit’s face twisted, as if in pain as it resisted.  It managed to make Hux grin, “Aren’t you more curious about why I picked him?  Why not you?  You’d be easy to manipulate with those drugs in your system.  I could assault your mind until you couldn’t tell fantasy from reality anymore.”  

“I’m not interested,” said Ben, “Who are you and how many of you are there?”  

The spirit snarled and flashed a feral grin as it gripped the table, “I know what you jerked off to when you thought nobody was watching.  Virgin ginger twinks.  Redheaded sluts.  Isn’t he perfect for you?  You can have him.  You’re not even a real priest, just a self-hating Jew and closet-.”  

“Answer my questions,” Ben growled in frustration.  

“Didn’t I tell you Ben?” asked the spirit, suddenly wrenching Hux’s head back at an angle that bordered on unnatural.  He smiled broadly, “When discerning these things, always look up at the sky.”  

Ben gritted his teeth, “Humans don’t become demons.”  

“And suddenly a moron like you knows all about the afterlife.  You don’t know anything you big-nosed k-”

Ben quickly seized the salt shaker, ripped out the rubber bottom and threw the contents in Hux’s face.  The spirit, or spirits, screeched and clawed at the table, leaving long nail marks and leaving Hux panting and wide eyed.  He looked down at the marks on the table, speaking with his own voice, “Did I…”  

He paused for a moment, slowly raising his hands to his mouth as he looked at the gashes on the table, then examined his fingers, finding the nails bent and torn from tearing at the table.  A few of them were even bleeding.  Ben stood up and hauled Hux to his feet.  Unsurprisingly, the slighter man wasn’t terribly heavy.  He walked Hux to the kitchen sink and turned on the cold water, forcing Hux’s fingertips under the flow of the faucet to clean them.  

Hux was crying quietly now.  Why wouldn’t he?  Ben was certain that if the same thing happened to him he would curl up on the floor and sob like an infant.  He rubbed Hux’s back as he considered what he heard.  He still didn’t have a name or a number of spirits, but it seemed to know him.  Or at least his history.  It was either trying to take his focus away from Hux, or Hux had never been the real target in the first place.  He had never heard of it happening, but the evidence that it might be a possibility was beginning to pile up.  

He also focused on the fact that demons lied.  They were bound by certain rules, but they also lied and looked for loopholes in agreements.  They were often likened to businessmen, but if they were businessmen, they were absolute sharks.  

Demons didn’t become humans, humans didn’t become demons.  From a purely Catholic perspective, that was the truth of the matter.  It was probably using his background, growing up in a different faith that he still felt attachment to.  The demon was using that to taunt him.  Ben knew that, he had seen it.  Demons bringing up a priest’s past sins or dead relatives, or personal drama as a way to try to make them stop the exorcism rite.  

But what if...what if...

He shut off the water, “Do you have bandaids?  Polysporin or some kind of disinfectant?”  

Hux nodded and pulled away to go find his first aid kit.  He dug through one of the upper cabinets, wiping his eyes and dusting off the kit.  Ben moved towards him, nice and slow, just in case something happened again, “Hey, you’re not alone, okay?  We’re going to figure this out.”  

“But it’s getting worse!” exclaimed Hux.  

“I warned you.  When you fight back, they fight harder.  This is a war for them, and no matter what, you’re not going to let them win,” said Ben.  

Hux slammed the first aid kit on the counter, “It’s getting worse because of you!”  

Ben nodded and sighed, leaning against the counter, “You’re right, it is.  Remember, we talked about this.”  

“I can’t do this...just get it out of me,” pleaded Hux.  

Ben closed his eyes, “It’s not a magic spell.  I can’t just say Abra Kadabra and make it pop out of you.  It takes time, it takes prayers, sometimes it takes multiple rites.  The more we know about the demon, or demons, the easier it gets.  If I can get its name and how many there are, then we’ll have better chances of ending this quickly.  Are you sure its never talked to you?”  

“No, I told you, I either black out or I see things,” Hux repeated, “I saw fire...people burning and a man preaching about looking up at the sky.”  

“You swear there’s nothing else?” asked Ben, looking over at Hux, “I need you to be honest with me.  Any little thing might help.”  

“No, there was nothing,” said Hux.  

“And you have no idea how it might have felt invited?  It might not even be you who did it.  Have you ever had someone perform a ritual on you?” asked Kylo.  

“I did yoga,” said Hux, rubbing at his eyes.  

“Yoga’s harmless.  I mean, has anyone said they were putting a spell on you?  I don’t mean LARP or Harry Potter, I’m talking about people who dead serious get their powers from demonic or spectral forces using that power on you,” said Ben.  

Hux paused and looked at Ben with some realization, “Millicent.”  

“What?” asked Ben.  

“Millicent, my cat.  She was a rescue,” said Hux, “I adopted her from a shelter and I was told the previous owner kept several cats in horrible conditions.  Apparently this person...they broke into the shelter and stole records, addresses and names.  I never saw them, I don’t even know if it was a man or a woman.  I came to work one day and there was a twisted up wicker doll on my desk.”  

Ben nodded.  It sounded like whoever it was trying to send an intimidating message.  ‘I know where you work.’  He arched his brow, “Do you still have it?”  

“No.  I brought it to the police, and I wasn’t the only one who’d gotten one apparently” said Hux, “Like I said, I have no idea who it was.  I was informed by the shelter that records had been stolen and I passed that along to the police as well.  They were probably more concerned with tracking down the stolen addresses and telephone numbers than they were some voodoo doll.”  

“Might not have been an actual Voodoo doll, but it doesn’t sound good.  Almost sounds like the were trying to do Voodoo based on something they saw on TV.  If someone was using it to pass along a curse, that might have been their way in,” said Ben, “Technically any sin is a way in, but...this is like comparing an unlocked window with setting up a landing pad and waving orange traffic lights while screaming ‘please possess me.’  The one a demon’s going to go for is pretty obvious.”  

Hux nodded.  He wiped his eyes and opened up the first aid kit and muttered, “So that’s it then.  I really do have a demon inside me...I was...I was hoping it was just spasms and blackouts…”  

Ben moved a little closer, reaching in to find some small bandages.  He opened up the paper wrapping while Hux rubbed disinfectant on his fingertips.  Ben muttered a soft, ‘hand’ and waved for Hux to give him the hand he wanted bandaged first.  Hux complied, sniffing as Ben wrapped the first finger and then the next.  He waved for the next hand and wrapped the other injured fingertips and held Hux’s hands.  He looked into his eyes, which seemed to be a little more blue than green in the strong kitchen lights, “We’re not giving up, okay?”  

Hux nodded, averting his eyes.  Ben moved a little closer, “Do you want a hug?”  

“I’m not that pathetic,” whispered Hux.  

Ben wrapped an arm around him anyways.  Hux shuddered and mumbled, “I’m not actually hungry anymore.”  

“You can save the eggs in the fridge.  I’ll take you out somewhere when we go shopping.”  

 

  ***   

 

Armaz had no idea there was a Catholic shop in the city.  He’d never needed to go to one before, so he supposed that was why he never knew.  It was small, even smaller than his apartment and stuffed with things that he recognized from his childhood home.  Little plaques with prayers written on them.  Small holy water fonts for dipping fingers in.  Racks and racks of rosaries every colour imaginable.  Little statuettes of saints.  Rows of cards with pictures and prayers on them.  

He looked around and wondered where he was even supposed to begin.  There was a bookcase, so he naturally gravitated towards it.  He’d always been naturally quiet and bookish, forcing himself to be extraverted when school and career advances demanded it.  He looked over the spines and saw words he hadn’t seen in years, some he’d very nearly forgotten the meaning of.  He looked them all over and found a few about angels and demons that he supposed would be the most useful to him at present.  They were surprisingly thin.  With everything Father Ben seemed to know about demons, Armaz had thought the books about them would be the size of encyclopedias.  

It also occurred to him that he didn’t own a bible.  His father had made him keep one in his room, and forbade any other book for that matter, especially ones with magic.  He had two, if he remembered correctly.  A great big one like the ones the priests had, and a small Gideon one that he had received at school.  He’d also gotten a small collection of little prayer books at his First Communion.  He’d left them all behind.  His religion had left such a sour taste in his mouth.  His father had used it as a tool to torment him.  He hadn’t wanted any part in it.  Then one Christmas it just didn’t...feel right until he had gone to church.  That was when he decided just going at Christmas and Easter was alright, and slowly he reconciled himself with the idea of identifying as Catholic again.  

He picked up one of the bibles, a brightly coloured one meant for teens.  The language was all the same, but there were helpful historical notes and cultural insights in the margins.  

“How old are you?” asked Father Ben quietly.  

“Old enough to have not been a teenager for some time,” confessed Armaz.  

The priest leaned over and craned his neck to have a look at the passage, “You like this one?”  

“I like that it’s annotated,” said Armaz.  

The priest bent down and picked up a thinner bible with a green cover, “We used this one for studying at the seminary.  If you want one with lots of notes, this one’s great.”  

Armaz quickly replaced the chunky teen bible and took the slighter green one.  He liked it, the language in the notes wasn’t as water down in this version, and there were more of them.  Many, many more.  Father Ben was right, this one did seem much better.  He looked at the price.  It was about what he usually paid for books, but after the doctors fees he’d had for the tests…perhaps he’d see what else he needed to get and then see if it was alright.  

“So, what else do I need?” he asked quietly.  

“Not much.  Technically you don’t ‘need’ any of it.  But if you think they’ll help you pray and make you feel safe and comforted, I say go for it.  You deserve the peace of mind,” said the priest.  

Armaz looked around.  He thought about what his step-mother kept.  For all his father had harassed him about being pure, he had rarely seen his father pray or care for the devotional objects in their house.  His step-mother had always been the one who dusted them, cleaned them, lit candles and said a rosary on Sundays.  She had...paintings in their house.  Hux saw a few of them in a folder of posters on the wall.  She also had a plaque with a guardian angel prayer on it.  She had a lot of statues of Mary as well.  

What would make him feel safe though?  He didn’t need a rosary.  He had that old family one that he kept because it was supposedly three hundred years old, and he had the plastic one that Father Ben had given to him.  They were very nice though, one was made of a sort of green marble from Ireland.  That was where his father said his birth mother came from.  Looking it over and seeing the price, it was nowhere near within his budget, but maybe, if he could remember where this place was, he would come back for it.  

He looked at the cards.  Father Ben gave him one for Saint Michael, but he didn’t really know who else would be of much help.  The priest, who had been following him, reached over his shoulder, “Our Lady’s a good one.  Nobody tougher than her.”  

“I thought you said Saint Michael was best,” muttered Armaz out the side of his mouth.  

“We call on him in exorcisms, but trust me, Mary’s really great,” said Father Ben, passing Hux a card, “Who else...Raphael, he’s good too.  Do you have any medals?”  

“I won a spelling bee once,” said Armaz.  

“Heh...no, like, sacred medals,” said the priest.  He reached into his shirt and pulled out a chain.  On it was a cross, several small, pewter pendants, and, to Armaz’ surprise, a star with six points.  The priest smiled, “They’ve got them behind the counter.  You can ask to look through them and pick out ones that you like.”  

Armaz furrowed his brow, “You have a Star of David?”  

Father Ben went cross-eyed as he looked down, tucking the chain back under his shirt, “Yeah.”  

“I didn’t think Catholics used it too,” said Armaz.  

The priest shrugged, “No, they- we don’t.  I wear it for someone else now.  Taking it off would feel wrong.”  

He leaned over again and picked up another card, “This is Edith Stein.  She converted from Judaism to Catholicism and became a nun.  She was martyred at Auschwitz during the second world war.”  He grinned, “She’s my patron.  I strong-armed my sponsor into letting me take the name Edith when I was confirmed.  You should have seen the bishop’s face when he looked at me and said, ‘...E...Edith?’  My mom wasn’t really impressed as impressed as I thought she’d be though.”  

So he wore it for a saint.  That was interesting.  Hux tried to remember who he had picked as his confirmation saint.  He looked through the cards and found him, “Mine was Saint George.  My family is English, but...to be honest I was thirteen and I picked him so I could have a picture of a dragon in my room.”  

“Why not?  Dragons are awesome,” said Father Ben with a grin.  He rolled up his sleeve, “When I got this one done, I thought I might get a dragon next, but when I became a priest I decided not to.  Might scare the old church ladies.”  

Armaz had a look at it.  It was a picture of a bird.  He wasn’t sure which one it was, but it was gorgeous.  It wasn’t one of those awful, greenish tattoos that his father had warned him about.  It was actually quite elegant, with beautiful flowers around it and a crown above its head.  If he hadn’t been deathly afraid of needles, he might have wanted to get one if it could look as nice as Father Ben’s.  

The priest put a hand on his shoulder, “None of this stuff is hurting you?”  

Armaz shook his head, “No, it doesn’t hurt at all.”  

Was it supposed to?  In the movies, demons always screamed and convulsed when they were exposed to sacred objects.  He looked over the store, which was filled with crucifixes and objects meant to help people pray.  It wasn’t hurting him.  He didn’t feel any burning or stinging.  He was a bit thirsty, and hungry from skipping breakfast, but he wasn’t in pain.  

That was...aside from his fingertips.  He couldn’t believe he had ripped long gashes into the top of the table.  He didn’t think his body was capable of that sort of thing.  He wasn’t an athlete, he hadn’t been to a gym in years, the only thing he had going for him was flexibility.  His body wasn’t strong enough to make marks like that.  It wasn’t strong enough to throw the coffee table in his sitting room.  Without the aid of...something, he would have never been able to.  

He looked over the collection of cards in his hand.  Father Ben looked over them approvingly be fore nodding towards the counter, “Even if you don’t want medals, you should probably have a cross.  I could help you pick one.”  

Armaz gave a quiet nod and followed as the priest requested a box from behind the counter.  It was full of little drawers, like the box his father had kept different nails and screws in to keep his work area organized.  This one didn’t have tools in the drawers though, there were multiple little crosses, some styled in ways that Armaz had never seen before.  Father Ben rattled them all off and by the end of his speech Armaz still wasn’t sure which was meant to be which.  

He cut everything short by picking one that was meant to be used at the end of a rosary.  It looked the most like the ones he had seen in childhood.  On top of that, it was plastic.  If he or something else decided to use it as a weapon, hopefully it wouldn’t cause as much damage as a metal one.  

“Here, I’ll pay for those,” said Father Ben.  

Armaz started slightly, “N-no, there’s no need for that.  You drove me all the way out here and-”

The priest pointed to a sign by the window and mumbled quietly, “No, see, clergy get a discount here.  I’ll pay and you can pay me back.  Save you a couple of bucks.”  

That felt a little better.  Armaz handed the priest the book and a collection of prayer cards and looked at the sign.  Clergy got a fifteen percent discount according to the sign.  While he was at the counter Armaz had another look around.  There was incense and linens, as well as a little catalogue for ordering advent candles.  Armaz hadn’t even seen a picture of them since he moved out of his family home.  He’d only seen them in churches for years.  

As years had gone on and he’d managed to put his father far and well behind him, Armaz had revisited the idea of religion.  Oftentimes he’d procrastinate in returning to elements of his childhood faith.  Sure, he would love to have an advent wreath, but he had no idea where to get one, and he didn’t know how to make them.  He’d love to pray the rosary more often, but he had left his in a box somewhere in his apartment and never had time to look for it.  He might consider finding a plaque or picture or icon, but he would have to save for one that he would like, so it often slipped his mind.  Most importantly, he supposed, he’d thought about church once a week...every two weeks, no once a month, he was a busy man...no, Christmas and Easter suited him fine.  

He heard the rustle of a paper bag as Father Ben held up his book and cards, “You good, or did you find something else?”  

“No, I’m alright.  We should go,” said Armaz, “I’m starting to feel hungry.”  

“Me too.  I know a good Greek place a couple blocks from here.  Do you like gyros?” asked Father Ben.  

Armaz shook his head, “Never had one.”  

“I promise you’ll like them, they’re great,” assured the priest.  

 

  ***   

 

Armaz was a really good kid.  Maybe not a nice kid, he got pretty snippy when he got upset, and he seemed to have a sarcastic streak a mile long when he had a mind for it, but there was nothing really ‘bad’ about him.  He was probably the sort of person who Ben might have wanted to hang out with in school.  He’d had a rough time fitting in, but there were a few kids who had been decent to him.  And Hux seemed to be just that, a decent human being.  

He had paid Ben back quickly and flipped through the bible on the short drive down the block, paying special attention to the margins and footnotes.  He seemed studious.  Ben hadn’t noticed any books in his place, but maybe he had moved them somewhere so he wouldn’t wreck them, like he had done with his cat.  He really did look cute, which was something Ben often struggled with.  His vow of celibacy hadn’t been an ‘off’ switch on his libido, and he still found other people, mostly other men, attractive.  It was one more thing he had to reconcile in his perpetually torn-up existence.  Most days it wasn’t bad, he could control and manage his urges, but on days like this he felt guilty.  Hux didn’t seemed like he wouldn’t be the sort who would take it well if the priest he came to for help admitted that he might have been letting his eyes wander a little longer than necessary.  

He thought of his dream.  It wasn’t the first time he’d had a dream of someone his brain identified as an angel, but it was the first time he’d been lying beside one on a bed.  It also happened on the same day a demon bluntly pointed out that he had a thing for redheads.  His dream had warned him about demons disguised as angels, and in his exorcism classes he had learned that drugs, specifically hallucinogens could make a person susceptible to demonic attacks, and those drugs could have effects that popped up years down the road…

And Snoke had...Snoke had given him drugs.  Ben supposed it had been his choice.  He could have said no, he could have said he didn’t want them in his system, he could have left the cult.  But he didn’t.  He stayed, he took them, and he was still struggling with it.  He knew he should stop taking them, but it was the one time he didn’t feel conflicted and afraid.  

He glanced beside him and imagined what his guardian-hallucination might say.  He would probably bop him on the head and say he felt pretty damned whole when he was in Adoration.  When he had a family meal.  When he got to baptize a baby.  He didn’t need the drugs.  The drugs made things easier, but he needed to get off of them.  They had come from Snoke, and Snoke had never given him anything good.  This incident, the dreams and Hux’s case combined, was beginning to serve as a wake-up call.  

“Here we are,” said Ben, pulling in along the curb.  He put the car in park and cut the engine, “Hey, would you mind going in and snagging a seat?”  He tapped the phone between them in the cup-holder, which finally seemed to have a healthy charge, “I’ve got a couple calls to make.”  

Hux put his bag down by his feet and nodded, opening up the car door and stepping out.  When the door shut Ben looked through his contacts.  He’d sent a few texts before they went in the shop and they’d gotten replies.  Thannisson, the history grad-student at the university had been looking for local cases with the occult or demons or ghosts, but the search wasn’t turning up much.  He was going to talk with someone in the criminology department and see if that brought anything up.  Ben wrote up a quick reply, mentioning a bizarre case of someone thinking a shelter stole their cats and gave them away, then started cursing people in retaliation.  

He also checked with Phasma, who was still open to see Hux at two and was asking about how Ben felt lately.  She had been one of the people his mom had gotten to help him, and had been fresh out of school when they’d first met.  Ben had been her fourth ever case and had put her through the absolute wringer.  He sent back a text saying he was fine, and he would see her at two.  

Then there were a couple of other people he needed to call.  He tapped the home contact and put his phone on speaker, listening to it ring until it abruptly stopped.  

_ “Hello?”   _

“Mom?” asked Ben in turn.  

_ “Honey, you know I love you, but you’ve called me at work and I’ve got-” _

“I know, I’m sorry, but I need to ask you something important.”  

_ “Alright...you’ve got ten minutes, and you need to make it quick.  I’ve got a town hall meeting.”   _

Ben sighed.  It figured his mother would be working when normal people were having a lunch break.  He gathered his thoughts and said, “It’s about a case.”  

_ “I wear a lot of hats but ‘priest’ isn’t one of them.  Not sure I’m much help.”   _

“That’s just it.  Mom...I’m...can you tell me anything about the dybbuk?” asked Ben.  

There was a long silence on the phone, static and background shuffling before his mother replied,  _ “Sweetie, you know I’m not a rabbi either.”   _

“I know, you’re just the first person I thought of to call.  So, if there’s anything you know, anything helps,” said Ben.  

There was another silence before his mother spoke,  _ “Ben, you remember that we tend to think of the afterlife, heaven and hell a little differently now.  If I remember right, in Catholicism human spirits can’t possess people.”   _

“That’s right,” confirmed Ben.  

_ “Well, for us, it’s possible for a human to become a diybbuk.  They’re human spirits that haven’t been put to rest, and then became demons.  For some of them, they had so many sins they couldn’t transmigrate, so they latch onto people looking for a living body.  Of course, the only people who a dybbuk can latch onto are ones who’ve done something bad.  And I mean really bad.  Of course for some of the spirits, they’re just looking for someone to help them find peace.”   _

“I don’t think this one’s looking for peace,” said Ben, recalling the comment on his nose, “What if it’s some sort of hybrid.  The guy I’m working with can be kinda snarky, but he doesn’t seem like the irredeemable sinner type.  He’s displayed abnormal strength for his size, and he certainly knows things he shouldn’t about me, but he hasn’t been speaking in tongues.”  

_ “Like I said, this isn’t my area of expertise.  Want me to give you some better numbers to call?”  _

“Yeah, do you know how to text them to me?” asked Ben.  

_ “Honey, I’m fine with technology.  It’s your father who can’t tell his phone from the TV remote.”   _

Ben couldn’t help letting out a sniff of laughter at that.  He remembered how his father kept struggling with the new TV remote, always asking, ‘what was wrong with the old one?  I knew how to use the old one!  Will you two quit replacing my stuff!  It wasn’t even  _ that _ broken...’  

_ “You know, just once, I wish you’d call me to say, ‘have a great day.’  Or at least something normal.”  _

“Have a great day, mom,” groaned Ben.  

_ “I will.  Love you, Benny-Bunny.”   _

Ben instinctively whirled around to make sure nobody was around to hear his mother’s childhood nickname for him.  He hissed into the phone, “Mom!  Don’t call me Benny-Bunny!  Mom!  Mom!?”  

A long tone coming from his phone told him that his mother must have hung up.  He shook his head and rolled his eyes at her need to have the last word.  He sighed and pressed the red button to end the call.  The next one wasn’t going to be as pleasant.  He opened the glove-box and heaved a sigh, finding the file that he kept there.  He could have kept it in his office, he was sure that other priests wouldn’t go through his things, maybe the nosey housekeeper, but he didn’t think he had anything to worry about.  He just...felt better with it locked up in his car.  

He looked at the number at the top of the file and sighed.  He was hoping he would never have to call it.  He wasn’t even sure why he still kept it.  He dialed the number and hit the call button.  He waited until he heard someone who he assumed was a secretary give the typical, ‘how can I help you’ speech.  

Ben spoke lowly, as if afraid someone might overhear him, even though the car was empty.  He sighed, “My name is Ben Organa-Solo.  I’m calling about the Snoke Standoff casefiles.”  

 

  ***  

 

Father Ben didn’t look good as he entered the restaurant.  Not sick, and not sad, but certainly shaken.  Hux noticed the same behaviour in a co-worker who’d had trouble with a stalker.  He was looking about and checking over his shoulder a little too frequently.  His head was down, as if he were defeated or hiding.  Simultaneously hunted and haunted.  He sat down, snatched up a menu and buried his nose in it, and asked, “You order yet?”  

“No, I have no idea what any of this is,” replied Armaz.  He arched his brow and tried to peer overtop of the menu, “Are you alright?  What’s wrong?”  

“Nothing,” said Father Ben.  Armaz fought the urge to kick him under the table, settling for pulling the top of the menu downwards so he could see the priest’s face.  

He tapped the menu and spoke in a low voice, “If there’s something going on with my case, I want to know.”  

Father Ben sighed and covered his eyes with a hand, “It’s not your case.  I was calling about an older one and it...it reopened some old wounds.”  

The priest leaned back and brushed his hair behind his ear.  He looked at Armaz head on and traced a finger down his nose and across his face, “I was calling about the guy who gave me this.”  

Armaz edged back in his seat, made slightly uncomfortable by the smouldering look the priest was giving him.  Father Ben turned his attention back to the menu and Armaz couldn’t help but wonder what exactly had happened.  It didn’t look like a knife wound.  He’d collected enough little scars on his fingers from his first cooking classes to know the difference between a scar from a burn and a cut.  His scar looked far more like a burn, and had been slashed down his face.  Briefly, Armaz considered that it might be a claw mark from one of the monsters the priest tried to exorcise, but immediately rethought it.  With the length of the wound, someone striking with a clawed hand would have left more than a singular marking.  It wasn’t a fire.  A heated piece of metal, perhaps?  

Whatever the case, the idea of it made Armaz shudder.  He could barely stand the scratches Millicent gave him when he tried to force her into her cat carrier, he couldn’t imagine someone taking a red hot piece of metal to his face.  He looked down at the menu and food he hadn’t seen before.  Even though he liked cooking he tended to stick to Italian, French and English foods.  He had no idea what would be good, but wondering about it kept his mind off of piercing metal and burns.  

“Sorry,” said Father Ben, running a hand through his hair, “It’s nothing to do with you so don’t worry about it, okay?”  

Armaz nodded and held his fingers in his lap.  

“Anyways, the gyros here are good.  I like the chicken one, but there are other kinds if there’s something you like better,” offered the priest.  

“Chicken’s fine,” said Armaz.  

Father Ben arched his brow slightly, “Are you okay?  I didn’t say something to get you down, did I?”  

“No I’m just...I’m tired.  There’s so much to take in,” admitted Armaz, “The only good thing that’s happened is...I thought all this was happening because I was a bad person.”  

“You’re not bad,” said the priest, “Trust me, I’ve known some pretty bad guys.  Not to mention the demons.  Is there some reason why you’d think you were bad?”  

“I’m…” Armaz looked down at the table.  Through the corner of his eyes he made sure nobody nearby was listening in or paying too much attention to him.  Taking a deep breath and preparing for the worst be quickly whispered, “I think I’m gay.”  

“That doesn’t make you bad,” replied Father Ben.  

“I thought it did,” said Armaz.  

“No, it doesn’t.  I’ll pull up a Catechism right now and highlight the part about being gay if you want to read it.  There’s nothing in there saying a gay person is automatically evil,” said the priest, “And there’s a whole segment about how Catholics should treat gay people, so if anyone’s said anything about you being evil or that you’re somehow worse than anyone else, they’re the one who’s wrong.”  

Armaz sighed, “Sorry.  My father...he drilled it into my head.  I never told him but I think he knew.  He kept on…”  Armaz shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable despite the topic making it difficult for him, “...he encouraged me to be pure.  And when he felt I wasn’t pure…”  

Armaz held out the back of his hands and showed off the few scars that weren’t from an oven or a knife, “These are from his belt.”  

Father Ben looked over the scars soberly.  To Armaz’s surprise he reached across the table and held his hand in his own.  It was the first time Armaz had noticed how massive the priest’s hands were.  His own hand almost seemed like that of a child in his grip.  He also had a number of moles and freckles on them, and his nails were in slight need of a trim.  He brushed his thumb along the scar and could only whisper, “I’m so sorry…”  

“It isn’t your fault.  Nobody knew, I kept it a secret for years,” said Armaz.  

“One of us should have known.  We should have stopped it,” said Father Ben, giving Armaz’ hand another squeeze, “I’m sorry we didn’t.”  

Nobody had ever apologized before.  It hadn’t been a bad thing.  His high school counsellor had been very proactive, making calls and getting Armaz, who had nearly been eighteen at the time, emancipation and a new living situation set up.  His teachers had been lenient with his grades during the process and transition, knowing the stress that he was under.  His father hadn’t apologize, and frankly Armaz hadn’t expected or wanted one from him.  He was congratulated when the process was done, but nobody had ever said sorry.  

For a long time he thought he hadn’t wanted ‘sorry,’ let alone needed to hear it.  

When he thought back, the whole thing had been so preventable.  A word from one person and the whole thing could have stopped.  If someone had noticed the marks on his hands and pressed him about them, of one person had called him on the blatant lie that his hands got caught in a door or window, he could have gotten away sooner.  It never really occured him to blame anyone else, but he had always hoped someone would intervene, that someone stronger could save him from a problem that seemed insurmountable.  Nobody came though, and that was how Armaz learned that there were no heroes.  There were no rescuers.  If he wanted to be saved, he would have to save himself.  

And perhaps that was the most frightening thing about his current situation.  All he could do was leave the fighting to someone else and trust that he wouldn’t wind up dead by the end of it.  

“At the risk of sounding corny, I know what it’s like to fall through the cracks and wind up in a bad place,” the priest confessed, “And the reason I decided to become a priest and a-,” he quieted his voice slightly, “-you know what- is so I could help people get away from sons of bitches like the one that got me.”  

“So…” began Armaz, trying to grasp the implication of the statement, “...you too?”  

The priest sighed softly and squeezed his hand again, “Yeah, me too kid.”  

“Hey man, I thought you were celibate.”  

Armaz ripped his hand away and thrust it back into his lap as he looked up and caught sight of the waiter, who also seemed to be one of the cooks by the look of his grease-splotched apron.  Father Ben turned slowly and Armaz flushed as he heard words he never expected to come from a priest, “And I thought you stopped being such a god-dammed cock-blocker.”  

“One of these days it’s going to cause a lot of trouble if you keep making jokes like that…” warned the waiter, pulling a pencil and pad from his apron pocket.  

“Where’s Rose?” asked Father Ben.  

“Off.  Visiting her sister, so I’m working the front and the kitchen” said the waiter, “So what can I get you.”  

“Two chicken gyros with fries.  Fries okay?” asked Father Ben, turning back to look at Armaz.  

Armaz nodded and kept his eyes on his lap and his hands.  He heard the waiter approach and caught sight of the white apron in the corner of his eye, “Hey, we didn’t mean anything by it, we just joke around like that sometimes.”  

“I’m fine,” said Armaz, trying to seem unphased, “Can I get a coke as well?”  

“Sure, two chick-gyros, fries and a coke,” said the waiter amiably, scratching the order down on his pad, “How about you, Benny-Bunny?  Coke too?”  

The priest turned sharply and jabbed a finger at the waiter, “Don’t call me Benny-Bunny.”  

“Right, right, whatever.  I’ll bring you guys some water in a sec,” said the waiter, winking at Armaz before wandering back to the kitchen, checking in on customers as he went.  

“Who was that?” asked Armaz.  

“My old neighbour…” mumbled Father Ben, “He lived next door to me when I was a kid.”  

“So you’ve lived here a long time?” asked Armaz.  

The priest shrugged, “I’ve moved around a bit.  Here when I was a kid, then a bunch of different places.  I got transferred here recently, so it’s been a bit of a mixed bag.”  

“I’ve only been here a few years.  I was laid off and moved here to find work,” explained Armaz.  

“I could sort of tell you weren’t from around here,” said the priest, “From your accent and all.  Are you feeling alright by the way?  No pain?  Nothing out of the ordinary?”  

“Not since this morning, and...this morning I didn’t black out.  I could feel it moving me...is that normal?” asked Armaz, “I could feel it make...make me say those things to you.”  

“But it wasn’t you, so don’t feel bad,” said the priest, “Did it try to talk to you?  Did it tell you anything?”  

“Only what you heard, and admittedly, I was too frightened to pay much attention.  I was just trying to make it stop,” said Armaz quietly, “I missed most of the conversation.”  

“That’s probably for the best.  But next time, if it talks, I need you to remember everything you can, okay?  Write it down, tell me, or call me right away, understand?” instructed Father Ben, “And once you’ve done that, you pray, and you give it hell.”  

Armaz wasn’t sure he’d ever heard that expression used that way, but strangely enough, it seemed to make quite a bit of sense.  So much so he couldn’t help grinning slightly, “Right, I’ll give it hell.”  

 

  ***   

 

Armaz wasn’t certain if he felt better or not after his appointment.  The doctor who saw him had been a giantess of a woman with blonde curls and strong presence.  Everything about her exuded strength, from her manner of speaking to the awards for athletics decorating her office.  They spoke briefly about England, both of them surprised by the other’s accent, before going into the usual routine.  How was he feeling lately?  Had he experienced mental illness in the past and what medications had he used?  Was he currently on any medication?  How would he describe his childhood?  How would he describe his relationship with his parents?  Coworkers?  Boss?  Was he religious, or prone to using religion to explain unknown phenomena?  Had he been taught to view negative behaviour as demons, or to believe that demons would try to interact with him?  

Armaz answered everything to the best of his ability.  Some of the questions he expected, but others made him feel put on the spot, or like the doctor was trying to make him admit that he was making the whole thing up.  He wasn’t.  He wasn’t making up the feeling of cement between his teeth or his body being manipulated like a puppet on strings.  He clenched his hands and felt the sting of his bleeding fingers.  He knew what she was getting at.  The abuse his father subjected him to as a child made him delusional.  Made him think he was seeing demons everywhere.  

He told her everything, and couldn’t help fuming as he stalked back into the waiting room.  He hated being treated like he was a liar.  He had dealt with it enough at home when his father found out he was seeing a counsellor and called protection services claiming abuse.  He had dealt with it enough with police who questioned whether or not his father had really hit him, or if he was making it up.  Armaz thrust himself down in a chair and picked up a Reader’s Digest and flipped to the first article that didn’t seem aimed at senior citizens.  

As he sat, Father Ben rose.  They hadn’t talked much since going for lunch, but Armaz felt glad that this particular priest was assigned to his case.  They’d both been hurt before, they understood the pain of having someone they trust hurt them, and everyone they needed to help them question and needle them for potential falsehood.  He looked down, grinned and passed by the secretary, mumbling a greeting to her.  

Armaz wondered what they would talk about.  Father Ben had seen his episodes, but Armaz at that moment realized that they had nothing but some gashes in his kitchen table for evidence.  With his experience with police and detectives, Armaz knew they would want more than that.  Perhaps he ought to set up a camera, or at least have some sort of recording device on hand if he wanted someone to take his claims seriously.  If he could get a video or audio recording, it might be questioned, but it would be more believable than the testimony of two incredibly biased witnesses.  

An old, bald man sat beside him.  Armaz kept his nose in the Reader’s Digest before the old man tapped him on the shoulder.  He arched his brow and asked, “Yes?”  

“Did you come in with Father Ben?” asked the old man.  He didn’t look well, and he must have been at least eighty.  His eyes were sunken and he had a scar running down his face.  

Armaz put down the book.  It wasn’t the same scar, but running into someone with one that was so similar to Father Ben’s was a little too coincidental to be dismissed.  He held the magazine in his lap and gave a nod, “He drove me here.”  

“I think he’s done a bit more than that,” said the old man with a light laugh.  He leaned in, whispering like an old gossip and said, “I used to attend masses before he came.”  

Armaz didn’t reply during the silence that followed.  What was he supposed to say?  He didn’t go to church anymore himself.  What should he say to someone who left because they didn’t like the priest?  The old man continued, “You know he isn’t a real priest.  He’s Jewish.”  

Armaz furrowed his brow, “No he isn’t…”  

“He’ll say he’s Catholic, but he stays kosher, celebrates Passover, still fluent in Hebrew,” mused the old man, “You can’t be both at the same time, as much as he tries.  He’s a fake.”  

It had been years since his last religion class, but Armaz saw an immediate flaw in the old man’s reasoning, “Jesus was Jewish.”  

“So he was, so he was, and so were his first followers, but they were quick to abandon their old ways.  ‘Father’ Ben still clings to them,” complained the old man, “How can you reasonably expect to follow someone’s instructions on how to lead a good life when he won’t do it himself.”  The old man heaved a sigh, “He was on drugs, a street kid.  He even fell into a cult.  He’s all messed up in his head.  He even sees things.  You can’t believe him.”  

“What do you want?” asked Armaz, tossing the magazine on the coffee table.  

“I want to look out for your best interests.  You can’t trust priests these days.  You seem like a well informed young man.  You must have heard of all the scandals…” said the old man.  He leered down in a way that made Armaz’ skin crawl, “He looks at you, doesn’t he?  He likes handsome young men like you.  You look young, but you’re legal, aren’t you?  That’s how he likes them.”  

Armaz went to jump to his feet, but the old man clawed into his shoulder and held him down, “There’s no escape for evil boys like you.  We heard all about from your father.”

Suddenly Armaz remembered what Father Ben had said and blurted out, “Who are you, and how many of you are there?”  

“I’ve no obligation to answer a wretch like you, or a fake priest for that matter,” replied the old man.  

Armaz gasped before letting out a scream.  The old man was on top of him, straddling him, gripping him by the shoulders.  He was laughing, spewing a string of curses and blasphemies before gloating, “You see?  I can mock them.  I can touch you.  Nobody’s coming to save you, but you already knew that.”  He gripped Armaz by the mouth and spoke with a voice that was far too familiar.  Armaz whimpered and felt his blood run cold as the demon asked the same question his father had after so many disobediences, “Fifth boy.”  

Armaz tried to shake his head as the creature shifted.  It became heavier, it grew hair, its eyes became a green that mirrored his own as it growled, “Fifth!”  

“Honour!” Armaz cried out, “Honour your father!  Get off of me!”  

“No...why don’t I give you just what a slut like you deserves.  You’re going to burn.  Burn for wanting that fake priest’s cock.”  

“Defend...defend us in…”  

Armaz felt a long scratch across his face and gasped out as it hissed at him, “You shut your whore mouth!”  

He felt himself being shaken, he heard ringing in his ears.  The old man leaned in, “You be quiet for once in your life, and you let me in.”  

The shaking grew in force as Armaz tossed his head, feeling clawed hands rake down  his front and pull at his belt.  No.  It wouldn’t do this.  Why was it doing this?  It couldn’t be happening.  He heard it tell him to be a good boy, to look up at the sky and pretend he was somewhere else.  Armaz clenched his eyes shut, shoving at its hands, kicking out his legs and trying to protect himself however he could.  The creature kept telling him to give in, that he was marked, that he had been given to him.  He was evil, full of rage, full of hate, completely beyond saving.  

And then it was gone.  

The weight across his legs was gone.  The claws at his chest were gone.  He curled up in the chair, covering himself with his hands.  He felt paralyzed by his own fear.  He didn’t want to look up at see the old man, or the old man who looked like his father, staring down at him.  He could feel it around him, leering at him.  He felt tears prick at his eyes.  He’d never been touched like that before.  He’d been beaten, but that was...it had been so awful.  He felt his skin burning.  He felt filthy, and the words were still ringing in his ears…  

“Hux, Armaz, are you okay?  Do you want me to call a doctor?”  

That was Father Ben’s voice, but was it him?  It could mimic voices.  He heard the voice call to someone, “You got a camera?  I want that footage.  Make a copy and have it sent to me.  Armaz...if it’s not you, tell me who you are.”  

“I’m Armaz…” he answered, surprised at how hoarse his voice was.  

“I know you’re freaked out, but I need you to answer, do you speak Hebrew?” asked the priest.  

Armaz shook his head.  He was only fluent in English, with a smattering of French and some long forgotten Latin.  He looked up hesitantly, clutching his legs.  He saw...he saw blood.  There was blood on his fingers.  The bandages had fallen off and his fingers were bleeding again.  He looked down and froze, his front was covered in trails of blood where the claws had groped him.  

The doctor was standing by the front desk along with the priest.  The secretary was huddled in a corner, looking at him in abject horror.  The doctor marched behind the desk, “I’m calling an ambulance.  If he keeps having seizures like that, he needs to be admitted.”  

Armaz flinched at the words, “No, no don’t!  Please, they won’t believe me.”  

“You need help,” said the doctor, dialing the phone.  

“Armaz, it’s okay.  If you go to the hospital people can do tests, they’ll keep an eye on you, they’ll make sure you get help,” said the priest, kneeling in front of him, “And if it’s not medical, I’ll come see you.  I’ll bring you anything you need.”  

“You, step back, you’re probably exasperating whatever issues he has,” snapped the doctor.  

“No, no it was here!  It was on top of me!” protested Armaz, tears starting to stream down his face.  He felt like a child again.  His father would hit him and nobody believed him.  A demon tried to molest him and nobody was listening.  

And Father Ben...could he believe him?  Could he trust him?  If he was caught between two religions, could he even perform an exorcism?  Why hadn’t he said something when he asked about the Star of David?  Why hadn’t he been able to help?  Why hadn’t the demon been driven away yet?  

“We’re going to get you to a hospital.  Do you want anything from home?  Your clothes?  Books?” asked the priest.  

“Are you Catholic?” asked Armaz, shaking slightly, “Are you on drugs?”  

Father Ben pulled back.  He looked up at Armaz, his brow furrowing as he confessed, “I’m Catholic...and I’m trying to get off of them.”  

Armaz could feel his fingers going numb despite the pain.  It...hadn’t lied?  What else was it saying that was true?  That the priest had been...looking at him?  That he was beyond saving?  He was beyond saving because he dishonoured a Father who had hurt him so terribly?  Armaz laid his head across his forearm and on top of his knees.  He couldn’t do this.  He wanted it to be over.  Why wasn’t anyone helping him?  

“Armaz…” said the priest softly.  

Armaz curled up tighter and clamped his bloody hands over his ears.  Whatever the priest was going to say, he didn’t want to hear it.  

 

  ***  

 

He had blown it.  He had well and truly blown it.  

Ben settled back into the bath tub and supposed it had only been a matter of time before the powder keg of events blew up in his face.  Hux was never going to believe him again now.  If not because he had lied about his background, then because he’d been on drugs.  He couldn’t blame the kid.  He was in one of the worst situations imaginable and had discovered that the person that he was supposed to trust hadn’t been completely honest with him.  

He felt so low he was tempted to...no.  No he didn’t need it.  He didn’t need them to feel better.  He could make himself feel better.  A high would just be temporary, fleeting, it wouldn’t solve anything at all.  He would forget the pain for a few hours and then it would all come back.  It always came up.  He had to break the cycle.  He couldn’t blame Snoke anymore, Snoke wasn’t putting the drugs in his hand anymore.  He was making his own choices and now he had to be the one who chose to stop.  

He remembered his first time.  He was told that it would bring him closer to God, that it would help him see the truth.  It had just made him dumber, easier to use, which had been Snoke’s plan all along.  He became convinced of all sorts of things.  That Snoke was a saviour, that everything in biblical history had been leading up to Snoke, the only one who knew the true way.  Snoke had been the Messiah that he had been waiting for.  As such, Snoke deserved his perfect obedience.  If Snoke told him to use, he would use.  If Snoke told him to hold still as he marked him with a metal rod, calling it the seal of the lamb, then he would hold as still as he could while his face was marred.  If Snoke called him to his room and told him to...to just lie down and let it happen…  

Ben wiped his eyes.  He always tried to forget that part.  Forget it or convince himself that it had just been a hallucination.  He hadn’t been the only one.  Snoke had mostly wanted girls.  He’d had them believing that he was creating a new nation, that he needed children.  He was their saviour, the second coming itself, so they let him.  Husbands even let him have their wives without resistance.  Snoke had so many children, and some of those girls had been so young.  He just stood by and let it happen.  Then he let it happen to himself.  He had done whatever Snoke said and so many horrible things had happened.  They happened because he allowed them to happen.  He could have saved them, he could have…  

But instead they burned.  

The police had come when Snoke had been discovered hoarding weapons.  There had been a standoff and...something happened.  Ben remembered being shot.  He remembered being dragged away and put in an ambulance.  He didn’t remember anything except Snoke’s voice ringing in his ears to look up at the sky.  Look up at the sky and trust in God.  It was days before he was informed that the compound had burned to the ground, and Snoke had burned with it, along with several followers.  

He couldn’t stop it back then, and now he had a chance to save someone else and he had blown it.  He had ruined it with his own damned weaknesses.  Hux was never going to trust him again.  In the time it took to get another exorcist on the case, more damage was going to be done.  Hux was going to suffer more and it was all his fault…  

“So what are you going to do about it?”

Ben looked up and saw Saint Michael sitting in the sink again.  He looked up at the angel, “I’m not high.  I’m also pretty sure I’m not dreaming.”  

“I keep telling you.  You’re going to be dealing with hallucinations for years.  That’s what those drugs do,” said the angel firmly.  

“Hey, do me a favour,” said Ben, leaning up and wetting his fingers by sticking them up the bathtub faucet, “Come here a sec.”  

The angel hopped down and knelt by the tub.  Ben blessed the moisture on his fingers before patting the angel on the head.  Seeing that he wasn’t screaming in pain or shifting into something malevolent, he sighed, “Okay, you’re not a demon…”  

“Frankly I’m surprised you didn’t test me sooner,” shrugged the angel, “Now back to my original question.  You messed up, so what are you going to do about it.”  

Ben turned and found he’d left Hux’s file in the bathroom and nobody had bothered to move it.  That or he was imagining the file as well.  He lay back in the bathtub and tried to think.  What was he going to do about it?  Hux had been brought out of Phasma’s office by ambulance, strapped to a stretcher while he tried to explain what happened.  Phasma hadn’t believed it was a case of possession.  Hux could have figured out he was Jewish by putting together the not so subtle hints Ben had tried not to give him.  He was bookish, had graduated from college for engineering and took a few language electives, so it’s possible he would have been familiar with Hebrew, even if he couldn’t speak it under normal circumstances.  From what Phasma saw of Hux’s fit, he had started snarling out in another language and clawing furiously at himself.  

In her position, Ben would have done the same thing; call a doctor and get the poor kid some medical help.  But the problem may not be medical.  If it wasn’t, Hux was only going to get worse.  He would lie in bed, probably restrained for his own safety, going through test after test with no result, while some evil spirit ate away at him from the inside out.  He couldn’t just leave Hux there.  After all those people he hadn’t been able to save, all the ones who burned, all the ones Snoke had hurt, Ben didn’t want to lose anyone else.  

 What to do.  Ben started small.  Hux was in a hospital without a change of clothes, he would want clothes when he left, and probably some toiletries.  He left his new bible and prayer cards in Ben’s car, so Ben would have to return them.  He might want a visitor…  

 That was where Ben stopped.  Would Hux want to see him?  Would he want to see someone who hadn’t been honest and whose help only seemed to make things worse?  Probably not, but it would take too long to get someone else on the case.  If Ben wanted to help Hux as fast as possible, he would have to be the one to do it.  He would have to face Hux, and he would have to face the demon.  Could it do it?  This one had barely been responding to him.  It had been resilient.  He experienced same-sex attraction, he was on his third religion, maybe he was just a fake-  

 Saint Michael flicked him squarely above the nose, “If you were a fake priest, how could you bless salt and hurt it?”  

 “You are a priest forever in the house of Melchizedek…” mumbled Ben, remembering the passage, “Right, so I’m real...I just don’t know if I can do this.”  

 “You can’t,” replied the angel curtly, “You need to call on others, and keep calling.  Maybe it’s because you’re young, but you keep thinking you’re alone.  You’re not.  You don’t have to do this alone.”  

 “That’s right, I’ve got you in my head until the damage heals,” mused Ben.  

 “So, are we fighting, or are you going to spend the rest of the day sulking in your bathtub?” asked Michael.  

 “I need a second.  I just need to clear my head…” said Ben, reaching for the carton in his pocket.  He opened it and took out a cigarette.  Lighting it he looked up into the saint’s disapproving face.  He gave a slight laugh, “Don’t worry, they’re normal ones.  I figure these can control the cravings.”   

“Rooting out one poison with another is never a good idea,” said the angel, wrinkling his nose and leaning back to sit on the bathroom counter again.  

Ben looked up at the swirling smoke.  He had to get calm, get centered.  He was going to do this.  He was going to save Hux.  If it took him two days or two decades, he was going to do it.  Placing the file aside, he heard a dull thud on the side of the tub.  Saint Michael had placed a glock on the corner of the tub.  Ben gave him a bemused grin, “Whatever happened to swords?”  

 “I’m sorry, I thought this was the twenty-first century.  I didn’t think we still used swords,” said the angel sardonically.  His eyes narrowed, “So, are we doing this?”  

 Ben looked up at the swirling smoke, focusing his mind on the upcoming fight, “Yeah, we’re doing this.”  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't want people to think that I don't like doctors or think they're bad guys...Krennic is just a dick. Also, Father Ben does NOT follow hospital visit protocol for clergy. 
> 
> I was really worried that the ending wouldn't be satisfying. I hope you guys like it. Sorry it's later than I thought it would be. Thank you again to Littlestarfighter who teamed up with me for this! I'm so happy I got to work with my favorite artist!

“We weren’t expecting you until Friday, Father.”  

The receptionist looked over the top of her computer as Ben walked in.  Friday was usually his usual day for visiting sick parishioners, if there were any.  Unfortunately it seemed there was always at least one, but with most church-goers being elderly, he supposed it was the way of things.  The deacon usually took care of nursing homes.  Ben was fine with hospitals, which he found surprising considering he had spent weeks in hospital after the Snoke Stand-off.  Nursing homes on the other hand...he couldn’t handle it.  He couldn’t handle watching helplessly while people he grew to like faded away and died.  Not for years and months at a time.  

“A friend of mine was just admitted,” replied Ben.  He had managed to get the name of the hospital when the paramedics arrived to take Hux away.  He was glad it was the one he visited.  It saved him the trouble of coming up with excuses to see someone he wasn’t related to and hadn’t known for very long.  

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said the receptionist, frowning slightly as she typed something into the keyboard, “So you’re just here for a visit?”  

“Yeah, his name’s Hux,” said Ben.  

The receptionist quickly typed something and clicked something else with the mouse before her frown deepened, “I’m sorry...you might not want to see him until later.  He’s been sedated pretty heavily.  You can sit with him, but he’ll be out of it.”  

“Sedated?” asked Ben incredulously.  The last he saw Hux he hadn’t been hysteric, and he hadn’t been in pain, so why a sedative?

“Just looking at his treatment.  He’s been sedated and he’s scheduled for a CT scan later, along with some x-rays.  I’m not sure if you’ll be able talk to him at all,” explained the nurse, “I’m really sorry.  Is it urgent?”  

“No, just, bringing him some things.  A book and a change of clothes,” said Ben, holding up a shopping bag.  He’d tried going back to Armaz’ apartment for clothes, but found that being a reasonable and cautious human being, the redhead had locked his front door.  Not knowing what else to do, Ben had doubled back to the parochial house and picked up some of his own clothes.  They would be a bit big on Hux, but at least they would be clean.  He’d probably want something clean when he was discharged.  

“Would you like to talk with Doctor Krennic?  That might be better,” suggested the receptionist.  

“I’d prefer Doctor Erzo, but if Krennic’s the one treating him…” muttered Ben, leaning on the desk.  

He felt butterflies in his stomach, and not the kind he’d felt when he’d asked this one girl he had liked to his middle school dance.  These were like the ones before getting on a rollercoaster and praying that maintenance hadn’t fucked up between rides.  That he wasn’t lining up to get on a death trap.  This demon...he had his theories about it, and it was becoming far more personal a case than any he’d had before.  

Demons insulted and blasphemed; it was part of their usual MO.  It wasn’t uncommon for one to know about the exorcist they were dealing with, at least enough to try to throw them off and stop the rite.  Ben was used to being called all sorts of things, having the fact that he was manipulated and abused hurled in his face or his heritage openly mocked.  He wasn’t used to this.  The demon talked like Snoke.  The demon acted like it knew things Snoke knew.  It used the exact same phrases Snoke seemed to favor when he was alive.  

The receptionist paged Doctor Krennic and Ben found a seat in the waiting room.  Looking at the magazines he was only reminded of Hux.  The poor kid had been convulsing in the chair, rasping in Hebrew, alternating between his own voice and...and something else.  He had torn at his chest and face so violently he reopened the wounds on his hands.  He hoped Phasma sent him the security tapes but really, he didn’t want to watch it again.  Once had been enough but...he would have to.  He had to get to the bottom of this, and there was a small chance that if he went through the footage he could find something that would help him.  

Ben closed his eyes and tried to remember what was said.  Admittedly his Hebrew was rusty.  It had been part of his deal with his mom.  He might leave their faith, but they wanted to keep some common ground, some traditions.  Keeping up his Hebrew had been one of the things he promised to do.  Even so, there were days when he felt, if he hadn’t studied in a while, that it was slipping away.  

The demon had said...what had it said?  It was hard to remember exactly, but he distinctly remembered something about the number five.  

“Father Ben?”  

Ben looked up and saw the doctor.  He didn’t really like him, all things considered.  He had always seemed a bit whiney, as if it was such a shocking and unthinkable thing that after years of studying how to help people...Doctor Krennic would actually be expected to help people.  It seemed every time Ben talked to him he was complaining about a patient throwing up or having to deal with some crying child.  The man had no bedside manner to speak of.  

“I’m here to see Armitage Hux.  Can I just go in?” asked Ben.  

Krennic gave a light snort, twirling the end of his stethoscope as if it were a pet he was fond of, “You won’t get much out of him.  He’s on an IV that’ll keep him subdued for a few hours yet.”  

“Why did he need one?” asked Ben.  Everything about Krennic’s attitude made him irritated as it was, but hearing him so flippantly describe knocking out a patient really got on his nerves.  

Dropping the end of the stethoscope against his chest, Krennic sighed, “Because he was being an absolute hellion and wouldn’t stop screaming.  Maybe when he comes around he’ll be able to control himself, but the way he was, I felt it was necessary.”  

“Was he just screaming?  He didn’t seem hurt or lie he was trying to hurt someone else?” Ben continued.  

“He wouldn’t answer when asked to rate his pain from one to ten, but judging from the blood I would say yes, he was in some pain.  He was hysteric, alternatively sobbing about nobody believing him and screaming abuses at the orderlies.  Once he’s had a rest he’ll hopefully be more coherent.  If not,” Krennic shrugged, “I’ll probably wind up referring him to the mental ward.”  

“Yeah, imagine that, an abuse survivor having a panic attack because he’s scared nobody will listen to him.  I’m sure knocking him out won’t be traumatic at all,” replied Ben sharply, “Can I see him or do I have to sit here and listen to you being an ass?”  

Krennic flinched at the curse, as if nobody had dared utter such a word in his presence before.  Ben knew it wasn’t the first time he had used that sort of language here, and it certainly wasn’t the worst he’d said.  Krennic scoffed, “You can see him, for all the good it will do either of you.”  

Ben rose and stalked away from Krennic.  He really, really wished Hux had gotten either of the Erzo doctors.  He might have still needed sedating, but Ben could imagine Krennic doing it just because he was annoyed over Hux’s volume.  He called over his shoulder, “Which room?”  

“One twenty-seven, I trust you remember where it is,” said Krennic.  

Kylo knew it well enough.  At one point, the room had been his, and he felt his gut twisting with the knowledge that Krennic seemed to know about that.  He grimaced and continued to skulk through the halls.  He had created more memories of this place, happier ones.  Organizing a youth group trip to see a friend who just had their appendix taken out.  Bringing sacraments to sick parishioners.  Getting to know the Erzos and their daughter.  This didn’t have to be a painful place anymore.  Painful memories from a long time ago didn’t have to rule his memory anymore.  

He just had to force them out of his head as he approached his old room.  

For a moment his hand hovered over the door handle.  He could just leave Hux’s things and go.  Hux might not even want to see him, or be seen like this.  Ben remembered one of the most painful things about his experience had been lying doped up on his back, helpless while people gawked at him.  He remembered how pathetic he had felt, like an animal in a cage being poked and prodded for fun.  He’d hated the pity everyone seemed to be giving him.  He could barely stand it..  

He didn’t really want to leave without seeing Hux though.  Even if he was asleep, even if he was drugged out of his mind, just a glance would suffice to know he was okay.  If Hux seemed upset, then he would leave.  Clutching the plastic bag full of Hux’s things, he opened the door and stepped inside.  

The whole room smelled like a strong cleaner, as if the whole room had been bleached and sterilized.  There was a table and chair beside Hux’s bed, along with an IV drip running into his arm.  Ben stiffened as he found himself looking at Hux, in a position that nearly mirrored the one he had been in.  The man had been strapped down to the bed.  His fingers had been bandaged, wrapped much more securely than Ben could have done, and that didn’t seem to be the only place.  Hux had a piece of gaze secured to his cheek, probably from all the scratching in Phasma’s office.  He had hoped that the blood had just been from Hux’s fingers.  

Ben took a step forward, calling to alert Hux to his presence, “Hey…”  

He wondered if Hux could hear.  It took another couple of steps for Ben to see if Hux’s eyes were open or not.  His eyes were open, but with the strap across his forehead he wouldn’t have been able to turn to look at anything.  Hux’s eyes drifted to Ben before slowly drifting back to the ceiling, unable to keep focus on anything.  His expression was slack and groggy, occasionally opening his mouth like he meant to say something, but no sound would come out.  Slowly his eye wandered to Ben before sliding back to gaze upwards.  Ben looked at the IV and sighed.  Hux probably wouldn’t be able to focus or communicate for a while.  

Ben pulled the chair over so he could sit beside Hux for a moment and said, “I brought a few things for you.  I thought you might need clothes.”  

Hux looked over for a moment when Ben spoke before closing his eyes.  

“Do you want me to stay with you?” asked Ben, unsure if Hux would even be able to answer the question.  

Hux barely opened his eyes before they fluttered closed again.  It was impossible to interpret a proper response from that.  Confronted with how helpless Hux was in this state, Ben couldn’t help but feel small and vulnerable himself.  He wished there was a way he could just make it all better, take all the pain away.  Somehow pick Hux up and drop him back at his apartment with his cat and all his furniture back in perfect order.  

Unable to help, he did one of the few things he could, slowly unpacking the contents of the bag onto the bedside table.  He pulled the clothes out, refolding all of them as he went with the sounds of the crinkling bag ringing deafeningly through the room.  At the bottom were the things Hux had bought at the Catholic shop.  Ben reached in and pulled out the small collection of prayer cards, the plastic cross and the study bible, suddenly hearing a loud creak.  

Hux’s eyes had snapped open as wide as they could go, a feral grin stretched so wide it threatened to split his face in two.  His limbs were all straining under the restraints, Hux’s thick blue veins popping against him.  Ben nearly jumped out of his seat when he saw it.  Instead, he set the things aside and asked, “Who are you, and how many of you are there?”  

“Yooooouuuuhhhhknooooowmeeeee.”  

It wasn’t Hux’s voice, and it wasn’t Snoke’s voice for that matter either.  Ben looked down at Hux, “I’m commanding you in the name of God to tell me who you are.”  

The grin faltered for a moment as the thing, or things inside Hux winced in pain.  Its voice growled and gurgled for a moment before the creatures began laughing, singing to itself, “You gave him the girls so we took the boy.”  

“So there’s more than one, that’s a good start.  Now tell me your name,” said Ben firmly.  

“Brendol says ‘hello,’” said the spirit, in a way that bordered on flirtation, “So does your saviour.”  

“My saviour isn’t Snoke, and you don’t speak for him,” growled Ben, “Your name, now.  This is your last chance before I perform the rite.”  

“Fake priest.”  

Hux’s body instantly relaxed under the straps, letting out a quiet whimper as he shut his eyes again.  He was so drugged up Ben doubted he would be able to remember the details of the attack.  He leaned over the bed, placing a hand on Hux’s cheek to try to get his attention, “Hey, hey...can you hear me?”  

“...name…” mumbled Hux.  

Ben stiffened, “You heard its name.”  

The muscles in Hux’s neck tightened, as if he were trying to nod.  He hummed, drowsy as he fought to keep his eyes open.  He opened his eyes slowly and closed them again, droning out, “...Ren…”  

“Ren?” Ben repeated.  

“...tells ‘m…” said Hux slowly, “...scrts…”  

“So you’re saying a demon is talking to souls, the ones in hell?” asked Ben, trying to get some confirmation.  

“...idn…” mumbled Hux, slowly blinking again.  His eyes weren’t opening or twitching.  

Ben reached over and brushed hair away from the strap, patting Hux’s shoulder, “Hey, I can’t let you fall asleep yet.  I need to know what they told you.”  Ben gave another little shake before adding, “I believe you Hux.  I believe everything, so I need you to tell me what they told you.”  

Hux didn’t respond.  He was breathing, but he was out, unconscious.  Ben sighed.  Ren...Ren wasn’t a typical sounding name for a demon.  Most had names based in ancient languages from the Middle Eastern region, at least the ones in the demonology canons.  Ren didn’t seem to fit in with any of those, unless Hux had only managed to get out part of the name, or mangled it in his drugged up state.  Ren...Ren made no sense.  

Ben tried to make sense of what Hux had said.  Demons were listening to their tormentors and taking direction from them?  That was...it didn’t seem possible.  Demons were rebels by nature, they wouldn’t want to take orders from human souls, or otherwise lower themselves to serve humans.  That had been the whole reason for The Fall.  But if they weren’t human souls anymore...if somehow they had turned into something else, something not quite human.  

But that wasn’t possible in Catholicism.  

Maybe...maybe Hux was just so lethargic that he couldn’t think or speak straight.  Ren might be short for something, or an anagram.  Hux might not have been talking about demons at all.  

Ben wanted to believe him, he just couldn’t make any sense of anything Hux was saying.  He ran his fingers through Hux’s hair, “I believe you...I just need a little more.  I promise I’ll believe you.”  

“...hu…” Hux hummed out.  

“Who?” asked Ben.  He shook his head and replied, “It’s me, it’s Father Ben.”  

Hux wasn’t responding again.  Ben brushed his hair back and found he didn’t want to leave.  When he left, Hux would be left along with a bunch of strangers who didn’t believe him, people who quite reasonably wouldn’t accept that his symptoms were that of demonic possession.  Ben didn’t want him to be alone when the sedative wore off and reality came back to him, as he slowly came to and realized that he was strapped down and completely at the mercy of everyone and everything around him. 

“I’m coming back for you.  I have to go, but I’ll be back, and when this is figured out I’m going to take you home,” said Ben.  He lingered for a moment, not wanting to go.  He knew how awful it was to be alone.  He didn’t want to leave.  

He squeezed Hux’s shoulder and even as he moved away, tried to think of a way not to leave.  Could someone bring him a computer?  A change of clothes?  Was there anyone who could cover his other duties?  Could he do everything that he needed to do from the confines of the hospital?  

He thought back to his mother, working tirelessly to find resources and help for him when he had been so lost and filled with anger.  She had stayed with him when she could, but also knew when it was time to go out and help in other ways.  He had a few more clues as to what was happening now.  He needed to research them, and then he needed to put everything he needed together so he could fight back.  Unfortunately, aside from offering prayers and being beside him, there wasn’t much Ben could do.  He might be able to try the Rite, but...If he wanted to help Hux, he had to leave.  

He walked slowly through the halls feeling miserable.  Passing Krennic the doctor sighed, “I told you he wouldn’t be able to talk.  You shouldn’t be so disappointed.”  

“When will he be awake?” asked Ben.  

“That’s entirely dependant on his behaviour,” said Krennic warningly, “You saw what he did to his hands and face.”  

“I need to talk to him,” said Ben.  

“Because he thinks he’s possessed?  I wonder who gave him an idea like that,” mused Krennic.  

Ben shook his head, “Look, if he isn’t possessed, and he is just freaked out, the worst case scenario is that I scare him a little.  Best case scenario...the rite is a placebo.  I say some prayers, he feels better, then we’re both out of your hair forever.”  

Krennic seemed surprised by that, “I never suggested I wanted you to go away permanently.”  

His snark certainly suggested otherwise.  Ben resisted the urge to roll his eyes, “Can I come back and see him when he’s more alert or not.”  

“If it won’t be a risk to myself or my staff, I won’t deprive him the right to his religion.  If he wants to see you, he’ll be allowed to see you.”  

Ben gave a nod and kept walking.  That the crux of the whole thing.  With Hux unable to speak or even move without considerable effort, he wouldn’t be able to ask for him.  Ben already had his permission to perform the rite, and he was allowed to see parishioners in the hospital, but he had a feeling that Hux might not trust him, not want to see him.  He wished there was a way to get someone else on the case, someone ordinary and orthodox who Hux could trust and feel secure with.  

Ben supposed he’d never had an approachable image.  His father had told him that his hair was too long, while his mother seemed to think that the tattoos and cigarettes did more to make him look like a thug.  When he first arrived at his parish he had been worried that he might be recognized from old news reports, but if his parishioners noticed he was one of the most prolific survivors of the Snoke Standoff, they didn’t say so.  He did, however, notice several little old ladies give him worried looks.  

At first Ben had been hoping to teach a lesson by it.  People shouldn’t judge by appearances.  Just because someone looked rough didn’t mean that they couldn’t be good people.  Now he was second guessing his mannerisms.  What if there were people like Hux who thought he couldn’t be depended on, and resisted growing in their faith because the priest looked like he belonged to a street gang?  He was starting to worry that his well intentioned object lesson was starting to seriously backfire against him.  

He hadn’t lied to Hux, but he hadn’t been honest, and he must have seemed so strange when what the poor kid really needed was comfort and reassurance.  

He had to fix this.  This felt so much like it was his fault.  

Heading out to his car, he squinted at the orange and red lights of the setting sun bouncing blinding lights across car hoods and windows.  He sighed at the stinging light and tripped over to his car, half-blinded.  Once he was inside the tinted windows made the time of day a bit more tolerable, though it did little to ease his mind.  Taking a deep breath, he pulled the file out of his glove box.  

It was his own file from the Snoke Standoff case.  It was full of pictures of him, pictures of evidence, his testimonies and the like.  Normally law offices didn’t give this stuff out, it wasn’t a souvenir, but his mother had managed to get it for him.  Ben hadn’t wanted it, but she’d insisted.  At the time, it had been to show him just how warped his mind had become.  Ben would be confronted with cold, hard evidence that Snoke was psychotic and that he had been drugged and manipulated into believing Snoke was practically a god.  It had been a source of pain.  How could he have been such a idiot to fall for this?  However, most were quick to point out that the file wasn’t meant to torture him, it was meant to give him perspective, to make sure that what happened before didn’t happen to him, or to others.  

Ben hadn’t expected the file to be useful in this way though.  He scanned through pictures and testimonies, cross-checking them against the things the demon had said and looking for inaccuracies.  Everything lined up.  The phrases Snoke would use, their relationship, even some mannerisms seemed to be spot on.  There were no glaring differences that Ben could find, so either the demon was Snoke, was taking directions from Snoke, or was very good at impersonating Snoke.  

The demon mentioned another name, Brendol.  Ben remembered it from Hux’s file on his baptismal record.  He was Hux’s father, which either meant two souls giving directions, being impersonated, or becoming dybbuks.  He didn’t know much about Hux’s father, so he couldn’t compare or contrast any of his behaviours with the demon.  

Was the demon Snoke?  That seemed to be the biggest question.  With a name it was easier to perform the exorcism, but if he got the name wrong, it would render the whole thing ineffective.  The demon had resisted all attempts to confirm its identity, or identities, so there was still a chance that using the name Snoke would not only be useless, but completely counterintuitive.  Hux had said Ren...perhaps he was trying to say Brendol?  He still couldn’t think of a demon that went by the name Ren, and he couldn’t be sure he had properly understood what Hux was trying to tell him.  Damn Krennic and his tranquilizer…  

No, not damn him.  Ben really had to get out of the habit of using that turn of phrase…

He started the engine and wondered where the best place to start his research would be.  ‘Ren’ or the dybbuk?  His mom gave him a working definition, but he needed more. This was his first time encountering a supernatural force that hadn’t managed to fit in neatly with Catholic teachings.  This was the first time he’d encountered anything that shook him so much in his faith.  If something like dybbuks existed, what else did Catholic demonology have wrong?  Ben had his own misgivings about teachings with many religions, including his own, but in terms of spiritual beliefs, he found himself falling more in line with Catholicism, and as far as spiritualism went, he’d never witnessed anything that ran so directly to the contrary.  

For his own piece of mind, he would have to find out more about the dybbuk.  Ren would be his second priority.  He wasn’t willing to rule out that Hux was really trying to tell him something.  He wished Hux hadn’t been doped up.  He wished whatever Hux was trying to say he could have just said.  They hadn’t spoken about what happened in Phasma’s waiting room.  Hux could have had all sorts of information that he wouldn’t be able to let out until he was coherent again…  

Ben nearly slammed his head into the steering wheel when he realized what an idiot he had been.  He knew what he had to do first.  Hux couldn’t speak, but the footage from Phasma’s office might be able to speak for him.  Admittedly his own Hebrew was a bit rusty, and only came to him fluently when he was drunk or high.  If he couldn’t figure it all out, he certainly knew people who would be able to supply a more accurate translation, or even someone he could check his translation with.  The demon said something about the number five.  Five demons?  Was the number somehow significant to Hux?  

As he drove at a speed that threatened to break the limit, he planned for a sleepless night full of research.  

 

  ***  

 

Armaz was aware of where he was.  He was in St. Lawrence hospital.  He’d been there once when he’d had a nasty flu and needed a doctor’s note to miss work.  The drip of his IV and the steady tones coming from his monitor told him that he was alright, but he was being medicated, or hydrated.  He was also painfully aware of the fact that he’d been tied down and his clothes had been removed.  He wasn’t naked, if he had to guess someone must have put a hospital gown on him, since he could feel straps holding him down along his arms and up to his knees, but his body seemed to be covered.  

When he tried to call out he found his mouth was dry.  He felt so...sluggish.  Every time he tested his strength against the straps he felt exhausted, like he’d run a marathon.  His whole body felt like jelly and his brain couldn’t focus on anything.  It felt like mush.  

“Mister Hux?” 

Glancing to the side he saw a nurse in green scrubs, looking him over apprehensively.  He remembered...he remembered going into a panic in the ambulance.  He remembered having an attack when he was wheeled into the hospital.  He was completely distraught and then...then he didn’t remember.  He had a feeling that someone visited, but he didn’t know if that was the drugs or...r something else.  

“Alright, once we’ve got a few more bodies in here we’re going to take you for some tests, okay?” said the nurse.  She read from a clipboard, “Your blood test and urology test both came back fine, you seem to be in fair health.  We just need to figure out these seizures.  

Armaz wanted to say that they weren’t seizures, but all that he could manage in his drowsy state was a light moan.  He just couldn’t get his mouth to make words.  He tried again and managed, “...n-no…”  

“I know, it’s a bit scary, but when the tests are over we might be able to find the cause and get you all better,” explained the nurse, trying to seem reassuring as she approached him like a wild animal that might rear up and attack.  As she approached something to the left caught her eye.  She smiled down at him, “Seems someone visited and left you a book.  If someone has time or we get volunteers, would you like someone to read to you?”  

That...might be nice.  It wasn’t as if he could watch television.  If he’d been able to ask he might have mentioned a CD player or radio to cut the awful sound of his heart monitor.  He was mustering up his strength for a reply when a foul smell hit his nose.  He was in a hospital, so there was probably a lab somewhere.  Something must have spilled...sulfur...rotten eggs perhaps?  

The nurse noticed as well, backing away instantly, “Ugh...what the…hold on, I’ll be right back.”  

As she dashed out of the room Armaz heard her collide with someone.  They exchanged apologies as he heard someone else approach.  Father Ben came into view and Armaz wasn’t sure whether to feel elated or worried.  So far, the priest was the only one who believed him, but he also hadn’t been completely honest.  The drugs weighed heaviest on Armaz’ mind.  Even if Father Ben was the worst priest in the world, there were others who could perform the rite if Hux needed it.  But with Father Ben’s history of drug use, would he be believed?  Would anyone take them seriously?  

Father Ben covered his nose when he looked down contemptuously.  He held up a small, round, golden container, like a pill box, and grumbled, “Sensed this, did you?”  

Armaz had no idea what it was.  Father Ben bent down slightly as he seemed to kick a chair behind himself and sat down, leaning over Hux as he muttered, “Same trick, every time.  It’s going to take more than a stench to make me leave.”  

As he opened the container, Armaz finally understood what it was.  It was communion.  Father Ben had brought him communion.  As he held it up, the smell got worse, and Armaz felt...it was like a heat growing in his stomach.  Everything felt hot, like he was too close to a heater or fire.  His mouth fell open as he painted.  He was so hot...everything felt awful.  Combined with the smell he was certain that he was going to be sick.  If he threw up while he was strapped to the bed, would he choke?  He heard that could happen…  

Father Ben began to pray, making the Sign of the Cross over both of them and Hux felt like he was being stabbed.  He jolted as much as his restraints would allow, letting out a gasp of pain.  Father Ben paused, looking down as he seemed to realize what was happening.  It was like when he had tried to pray the rosary and his jaw clicked shut.  Something was doing these things to him to stop him from getting communion.  It felt so horrible and his mind was so muddled Hux felt it had to be a dream.  He would wake up.  He would wake up and it would all be over.  

Father Ben held the wafer close to his mouth and declared, “The Body of Christ.”  

Armaz gasped and whimpered as he drew his head back as far as he could.  It was hot, it actually burned to the touch.  It would hurt too much to take.  He tried to shake his head and refuse.  It wasn’t like taking a medicine that tasted bad, the communion was physically hurting him.  

Father Ben leaned over him, “I know, I know...they don’t want you to take it, but you have to.  If you want to fight them you have to take it.  That’s why they’re hurting you, they don’t want you to do it...please, I know it hurts...The Body of Christ.”  

When the words left the priest’s mouth Armaz let out a yowl.  A bolt of pain shot through his whole body and he felt hot tears beginning to roll down his cheeks.  He let out a string of sobs and whimpers as he kept his mouth shut.  He didn’t want it.  It was going to hurt.  In his numbed state all he cared about was getting the pain as far away from him as possible.  He didn’t care about spiritual fights, he just wanted to stop hurting.  

“It’ll be alright Armaz, don’t let them win.  Don’t let them do this to you,” begged the priest.  

“It’ll be alright son…”  

Looking away from Father Ben, Armaz saw his father.  He wasn’t cruel like he had been.  Armaz had seen him in softer moments, enough to know that his father was capable of sympathy.  He seemed so sad, looking down at Armaz the way he was, patting the top of his head and stroking his cheek the way Armaz had always wanted him to do as a boy.  His father looked at Father Ben and said, “Stop it, you’re hurting him.”  

‘Yes,’ Armaz thought, ‘Yes, please, listen to him!’  

The priest didn’t move.  His father looked down at him desperately, stroking over his hair, “Tell him to stop, Armaz.  Tell him you don’t want what he’s offering.  If you do, the pain will go away.”  

The words made Armaz blink slightly with realization, then recoil in fear.  

His father had never called him Armaz.  

It was here, the demon was here now.  It was suddenly registering in his heavily sedated mind that the demon was real and watching him constantly.  His father’s face shifted, becoming more like the one Armaz had known for most of his life.  The cruel one.  The one eager to torment and punish.  He leaned down and dug his hand into Hux’s shoulder, threatening, “You take it, and I’ll rip open your gut and take it out of you.”  

Father Ben’s eyes went wide, “Nurse!  Somebody help!”  

He reached above Hux’s bed and Hux heard a different sound, like one on an airplane for calling attendants.  Was Father Ben leaving?  No, no he couldn’t leave.  He couldn’t leave him alone like this.  The priest leaned down, holding out the wafer, “Please, one last try, please, you can fight it.”  

Armaz took it on his tongue and it tasted like poison.  It burned, it was bitter and it hurt; but he swallowed it.  It burned going down and he whimpered, anticipating being eviscerated like the demon had threatened.  Still, at least being ripped to pieces would end all the pain.  He could be dead and not feel all the burning, especially in his stomach. 

“What...Oh my god!” cried the nurse.  

“He just started bleeding,” exclaimed Father Ben.  

Armaz heard the nurse shout for gauze before rushing towards him and peeling back his gown, “What did you do!?”  

“I told you, he just started bleeding!  Check your cameras if you want,” snapped Father Ben, becoming more angry in the confusion.  

“Oh my god...it’s a bite…” the nurse gasped.  She looked at Father Ben, and seeing his clean mouth and hands, must have concluded that it couldn’t have been him, “What happened?”  

“I gave him communion and he started bleeding,” said Father Ben urgently.  

“I need you to leave, we’re going to need space to treat him,” said the nurse, keeping pressure on the wound and pushing the call button again, “I don’t think we can give him another dose for a few hours.”  

“...en…” Hux called out, his voice high pitched and coming out like a squeaky old door.  

He couldn’t turn his head, but he was certain Father Ben was gone.  He felt so horrible.  He just wanted to sleep forever.  He didn’t have the will or energy for anything else.  He couldn’t even look away to try to preserve his dignity when he cried.  All he could do was lie here, paralyzed and just...just take it.  Let these things assault his mind and body while doctors pumped him full of fluids and drugs.  The worst part was, he didn’t know if Father Ben was helping.  He didn’t know if his advice would work.  The only person who was trying to help was someone Armaz wasn’t sure he could even trust.  

Letting out another sob, he hoped for the end to come quickly.  

 

  ***  

 

Ben watched Krennic look over the photographs of the bite-mark a nurse had taken.  They didn’t look like human teeth at all, at least to Ben, but Krennic might say something about reasonable doubt just to be an ass.  Even if there had been no cameras, the case was fairly open and shut.  Hux had been strapped down, unable to bite himself.  A nurse had come as soon as Ben shouted and there was no blood to be found on Ben’s hands, face or clothes.  Neither of the two people in the room had bitten Hux, so obviously something else must have.  

Doctor Krennic tossed the picture aside and looked at Ben disbelievingly, “Do you honestly expect me to conclude that a demon did it?”  

“Yes,” Ben answered bluntly.  

“Father, I’m not a man of faith.  There is a logical reason for everything, and evil spirits wandering about and biting patients isn’t logical,” protested Doctor Krennic.  

“What other option is there!?” exclaimed Ben, “If it wasn’t me, and it wasn’t Hux, who does that leave!?”  

“It’s a bit much to swallow is what I’m trying to tell you!” snapped Krennic.  

“Do you two hotheads mind?” 

Doctor Lyra came in, shutting the door behind her, “There are patients trying to rest and listening to you two shouting about demons isn’t helping any of them.”  

“Here’s Lyra back from the grave…” muttered Krennic.  

“It was a fifteen minute power-nap,” she replied irately before sitting at the meeting table.  She looked at the picture of Hux’s stomach before picking it up, “A dog bite?”  

“Demon bite,” said Krennic, cocking his head in Ben’s direction.  

Lyra arched her brow before putting the picture down, “That’s the man who came into ER with seizures yesterday afternoon?”  

“Urology and blood tests are clean.  CT scan, MRI, EKG, and X-Rays aren’t showing us anything.  We were thinking of an ultrasound, but it’ll have to be postponed since the patient has  _ eaten _ ,” explained Krennic irately, once again eyeing Ben.  

“So there’s nothing wrong with him,” said Lyra.  

“He has violent fits and seems to think there’s a demon coming after him.  In my opinion we can’t treat whatever’s wrong with him.  We should be getting psychiatric help,” concluded Krennic.  

Lyra looked at the picture and sighed, “I’m going to want to look at his file...Father Ben, did you tell him it was a demon?”  

“No, he came to me thinking that he might be possessed.  He asked me for help, so I blessed his apartment and stayed with him for a few hours.  Before I agreed to it, he showed me that he’d gotten several tests done, and I was ruling out the possibility of mental illness with my friend Doctor Phasma when he had his last ‘fit’,” Kylo explained.  

“So the test wasn’t conclusive,” said Lyra, looking at Ben seriously, “He could just be mentally ill.”  

“I don’t think so,” said Ben.  

“I hope you’re not making him suffer so you can get the chance to perform a miracle,” scoffed Krennic.  

“No, I believe it because I have proof!” said Ben.  He took his own file out, “These are Armaz’ sacramental records.  Nice kid, unfortunate family life.  He grows up, moves out, only comes to church for Christmas and Easter, in other words, completely average.  He’s not particularly pious, not really into the whole religion thing because of his jack-ass dad.  So why would a level headed, average guy, suddenly think he has demons?  He did the smart thing and went to the doctor before seeing a priest.  That’s why I believed him.”  

“That isn’t exactly proof,” said Lyra, “His character doesn’t confirm or deny that demons are involved.”  

“I’m getting to that.  Unfortunately, I didn’t record any of his other spells, but when we were at Phasma’s, the cameras in her office caught his fit.  I burned it onto a cd and spent all of last night researching Hebrew and demons and now my head feels like it’s going to explode because there’s too much information in it,” said Ben.  He opened the file and took out the notes he had scratched out, “I’m not a medical professional, but based on all the information I have, I really do think we’re dealing with something supernatural.”  

“What is this?” asked Krennic, looking over the notes, “‘I’m going to give you what a slut deserves?’”  

“You have no idea how long it took to figure out ‘slut’ in ancient Hebrew,” said Ben.  

“Was the demon filming a porno?” asked Krennic.  

Ben felt the urge to flip the table and crush Krennic underneath it, “No, it’s not a porno!  That’s the demon threatening to rape your patient!”  

“Father Ben, you have to understand, this is a lot to take in at once,” said Lyra, trying to calm them both down, “We want to have someone come talk to him.  If we can’t get a proper diagnosis, you can perform any ritual you like.  But until we can clear him for mental health, I’m worried you might cause his condition to worsen.  Feed into a fantasy he has that’s keeping him from getting better.”  

“And how long will that take?” asked Ben.  

Lyra looked over at Krennic, “How long should it take?”  

Krennic crossed his arms and muttered, “Well I haven’t had time to make any calls with the mad day I’ve been having.”  

“Are you serious!?” snapped Ben.  

Lyra groaned, “If we call someone right away it will take at least half a day for them to respond and see him, and that’s if they have an opening for him to be seen.”  

“Even if it’s an emergency?” asked Ben.  

“But even at that, mental health diagnoses aren’t always as quick as we’d like them to be.  You’ll need to be prepared to wait a few days,” said Lyra more firmly, “We try our best to do no harm when we treat patients.  We don’t want to cause this man any more stress than he’s already under.  You can visit, plainclothes, no rites until he stops reacting violently to anything that reminds him of religion.”  

Ben sighed and put his head in his hands.  All that time, all that research and he was being blocked.  He couldn’t stand Krennic, but he couldn’t blame Lyra.  She was doing her job, and doing it well.  If a crazy priest ran into his practice calling demon, Ben doubted he would have as much patience as she seemed to have.  Ben shook his head and finally looked up, “He’s been through so much…”  

“We’re doing everything we can,” said Lyra, “When things calm down, you can visit him.  If his head is a bit more clear, maybe you can talk to him.”  

“I’ll try...if he wants to talk about the demons, what should I tell him?  He’s already been in a situation where something awful was happening and nobody would believe him for a very long time, I don’t want to make him think that’s happening to him again,” explained Ben.  

Lyra and Krennic looked at each other before Lyra slowly replied, “We’ll...leave that to your discretion.  Just don’t scare him.”  

“I don’t want to scare him,” said Ben, standing up and taking his file.  He looked at Krennic, “When will those drugs be out of his system?”  

“A few hours.  If he’s calm and not in any serious pain, we won’t give him anymore.  If he’s violent or seems hurt, we’ll have to give him something,” explained Krennic.  

“Great…” muttered Ben.  He looked up at Lyra, “How’s Jyn?”  

“Still doing that ridiculous ‘Battle Robot’ competition with her friends, but she loves it, so my house remains covered in spare parts and grease,” said Lyra, “Wouldn’t be so bad if they’d keep it in the garage.”  

“What’s that new one?” asked Krennic with a grin, “K-something.”  

“They’ve nicknamed it Queso,” said Lyra, “Don’t ask me why, but they’re calling the little monster Queso.”  

 

  ***   

 

Armaz stared up at the ceiling.  He couldn’t tell the time, how long he was spending strapped to the bed.  Sometimes it was light, other times it was dark, but he wasn’t even sure that any of it was real.  There was a possibility that at any point he was dreaming.  Nothing felt like it existed.  His head was still cloudy and he was still so numb.  From time to time he felt a dull ache, a pinch in his hand where his IV was running, but aside from that he couldn’t even feel the straps across his limbs.  

He could feel shame though, humiliation when his bed was propped up and a nurse came in to feed him, practically baby-talking him as she encouraged him to take more food.  He couldn’t focus on her, his mind wouldn’t let him, but he could still feel the embarrassment of it.  All of his agency had been taken from him.  He could barely talk, and his refusals were met with easy dismissals.  He was sick.  He needed help.  He just had to lie still and swallow a little more applesauce.  It got worse when someone came in and began peeling back his gown.  

“N...nno…” Armaz tried to cry out.  He didn’t want his clothes taken off.  He didn’t want to be seen or touched.  He hoped it was a dream.  He didn’t want it to be real.  

“It’s alright sweetie, just your arms and chest.  You need to wash a little bit…” assured the nurse, hushing him and ignoring his discomfort.  

He needed it?  How long had he been there?  Two days?  It couldn’t be more than that.  Armaz refused to believe it was more than that.  He lay back, waiting for the ordeal to be over as the nurse pulled up his gown under the straps.  She gave his shoulder a little squeeze, “Your stomach’s looking better.”  

What had happened to his stomach?  

He drifted off again and looked about when he woke.  If he strained he could see the wall on either side of him.  It was dark, but Armaz couldn’t make out if it was because the curtains were drawn or if night had finally fallen.  But if night really had fallen, how long had he been in bed?  Surely the lights wouldn’t have been turned off if it was daytime, unless a nurse thought turning the lights out might help him sleep.  

He watched the shadows hop across the ceiling.  It was curious to see the shadows hop, and there was more than one.  Seeing that there was nobody in the room, he thought it might be the shadows of shoes filtering through the crack under his door.  They didn’t move like feet though.  They hopped like cartoon rabbits from Easter specials.  They started small and got big, hopping in close until Armaz could see them stretched across the ceiling.  They were blurred, but it was obvious that they weren’t rabbits.  They’d surrounded him, ready to either welcome or devour him.  

He closed his eyes.  If he was dreaming, he wanted to change the dream.  If he wasn’t dreaming, sleep might make the shadows go away.  

When he drifted back into consciousness there was light, and he could feel more pain.  There was a burning feeling in his stomach, and a throbbing in his head, the sort Armaz usually felt when he was overly hungry or dehydrated.  

“Hey.”  

Glancing to the side he saw Father Ben with his leather jacket and sharpie covered arms.  Armaz tried to speak, and for the first time, something understandable came out, “...hey…”  

Father Ben gave him a piteous look, reaching over and touching his cheek, “You don’t look so good.  Have you been eating?”  

Armaz tried to shake his head but found he was still held fast.  He replied, “I don’t know.”  

Father Ben seemed fixated on his face.  Unable to see his own reflection, Armaz assumed he had gotten pale, and perhaps a little thinner if he wasn’t eating.  Gathering a little more strength, Armaz asked, “What’s happening?”  

“They’re getting you referred to a psychiatrist.  They...want you admitted until they can get a diagnosis,” confessed Father Ben, retracting his hand.  

“But I’m not sick…” protested Armaz, feeling sobs close up his throat, “I’m not sick…am I?”  

Seeming to deliberate something for a moment, Father Ben asked, “You tried to tell me something when I visited you.  About someone named Ren.  Can you remember that at all?”  

Armaz tried to shake his head, “No I don’t!  All I can remember is everything hurting.”  

“It’s alright, it’s going to be okay, let’s talk through this,” offered the priest.  

“No...it’s not going to get any better,” said Armaz staunchly, fisting as much of the sheets underneath him as his hands could manage, “They don’t believe me.  They’re going to keep me here and whatever’s inside me is going to drive me mad or kill me.”  

“I know what it is,” said the priest urgently, taking Armaz by the wrist as he whispered, “Or at least what it’s doing.  Will you hear me out?”  

It was possible that Father Ben might be a fake.  Armaz hadn’t known many people who had been on drugs, but the few he had known he couldn’t trust.  If the priest was insincere, then it was possible that he couldn’t perform rites, that he wasn’t a priest in the real sense at all.  Not to mention the possibility of conflicting beliefs...but that was something that the demon had told him, and Armaz wasn’t sure he could take anything they said as truth.  It had warned him about Father Ben’s drug abuse, so clearly they told the truth sometimes.  

At the same time though, Father Ben was the only person in the hospital who believed him.  

“Fine…” said Armaz quietly.  

“The demons that are doing this to you...Wait, here’s a better place to start.  Demonic activities have different classifications depending on what they do.  The two you need to be most concerned about now are Obsession and Possession.  Possession is when a demon takes over your body, obsession is when a demon frequently troubles or targets a person,” explained Father Ben.  

“So I’m possessed,” said Armaz.  

“If you were possessed we wouldn’t be able to talk.  Something has been given an invitation in, and it’s been trying to take over, but it can’t, not completely.  Demons want souls, remember?  They can’t steal them though, a human has to choose hell and damnation for themselves, whether it’s through actions like sinning or outright selling their souls.  The demons want you, but until you actively choose to give in to them, they can’t take over completely,” explained Father Ben.  He sighed, “It threw me at first.  I’ve never seen demons that can do both…”  

“So...what you’re telling me is they won’t give up until I give up,” said Armaz.  

“Or we beat them back,” said Father Ben, “I’ve been looking into everything I can, even things I didn’t really want to.  Hux...you said something about telling secrets.  I think that’s the key to all of this.  Who’s telling who secrets?”  

Armaz closed his eyes, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  

“The day you were admitted I brought you clothes and some other things.  I tried to talk to you but you were really out of it.  You said something about someone named Ren, and that someone was sharing secrets.  Can you remember anything at all?”  

“I could barely think…” mumbled Armaz, “I can’t even tell when I’m awake or dreaming.”  

“That’s okay.  Do you want to tell me about your dreams?” asked Ben, giving his wrist a supportive squeeze.  

Armaz gave a little sigh, “Hopping shadows.  There were shadows hopping up to my bed, like rabbits.”  

“Do you remember how many, or are details still hard to remember?” asked the priest.  

“Seven, I remember that much.  They were blurred, but there was seven.  One seemed to move first, and the other six followed,” explained Armaz.  He looked at the priest through the corner of his eye, “Do you think it means anything?”  

“If they weren’t just shadows we might have our number.  Are you sure you can’t remember anything about the name Ren?” asked Father Ben, “Anything about secrets.”  

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” replied Armaz.  He winced as he felt a particular sharp pain in his stomach.  He couldn’t look up to check, so he asked, “Did they do something to me?  I keep feeling all this pain.”  

Father Ben kept his grip on Armaz’ wrist, but he pulled back.  He spoke quietly, calmly, clearly trying and failing not to cause alarm as he simply replied, “It bit you.”  

Immediately his mind supplied the horror his eyes couldn’t see.  A large chunk taken out of his side.  He remembered now.  It threatened to rip the communion wafer out of him if he took it.  He remembered the smell of sulfer and how much everything had hurt.  Had he lost a lot of blood?  Would it scar?  How big was it?  He closed his eyes, “Please, just make it stop.  If you can do it, I want you to perform the rite.  Please, please make it stop…”  

He felt another little squeeze around his wrist, “The doctors are worried that it might make you worse.”  

“I’m giving you permission!  I’m telling you to do it!” snapped Armaz, “Doesn’t that mean anything to them!?  Nobody’s discussed treatments with me.  They just strapped me down and put enough painkillers in my system to knock out a bull elephant!”  

“Hux, they’re just trying to-,” Father Ben began.  

“Get them in here and I’ll tell them what I want!  I’m not a prisoner, they can’t keep me here if I don’t want to stay,” said Armaz staunchly, hearing his heart monitor’s pace pick up as his anger built, “I’m quite certain I have grounds to sue if I had a mind for it.”  

“Well...how about I at least get you some water first before we do anything drastic,” said Father Ben, “You really look terrible.”  

“How bad?” asked Armaz.  

Father Ben chewed his lip for a moment before letting go of his arm and muttering, “Really bad.”  

Armaz knew he would regret it.  He knew he wouldn’t like what he saw, “Do you have a mirror?”  

“Not on me...want me to get one?  I can ask a nurse about getting you some jell-o or applesauce if you’re hungry,” said Father Ben.  

He wasn’t sure how he was going to eat it if he was strapped down.  Hopefully it wouldn’t be necessary anymore.  As much as Armaz currently hated the medical staff, he knew he wouldn’t have been restrained for no reason.  Something must have happened when he had blacked out.  He must have tried to do something to someone...no, he hadn’t done anything.  Something else had used his body.  It wasn’t his fault.  He hadn’t hurt anyone.  He hadn’t done anything...

As much as he wanted to sit and stew in his feelings, he was hungry.  It wasn’t something he particularly liked, but at that moment, jell-o sounded...nice.  

“Do you think they have cherry?” asked Armaz.  

Father Ben gave his hand a parting pat, “I’ll go check.”  

 

  ***  

 

“Hey, Hux is awake.”  

Father Ben caught up with Krennic, who was scribbling something down on a clipboard.  The doctor looked up at him irately, “I know he’s awake, I took him off sedatives myself.  Any longer and it might cause damage to his system.”  

“Any chance we can all talk about this?  He doesn’t want to be here,” insisted Ben.  

“I assure you the feeling is mutual, but he’s not in a sound enough mental state to make those decisions for himself,” said Krennic, “And with no next of kin or person legally appointed to make those decisions, we’re making the best calls we can.  We’ll give it a few more days, then we’ll have to transfer him to a mental ward.”  

Ben clenched his fists.  He thought he’d been discreet but Krennic must have noticed, “We can’t keep him tied to a bed here.  It would be much better for him to be in a padded room.”  

“He deserves to have a say in this,” said Ben firmly.  

“And normally I would give him one, but he’s clearly mentally unfit,” argued Krennic.  He attached the pen to his clipboard and his exasperation was clear as he seethed, “I’m not trying to be cruel.  He thinks he has demons inside him.  He isn’t well!”  

“He’s also damn near traumatized!” Ben countered, “Look just...talk to him.  He wants to know what’s happening.  Just talk...please.”  

Krennic’s brow arched, “I beg your pardon?”  

“Please!  Alright, I said it,” snapped Ben.  

Krennic rolled his eyes, “Well, since you asked so nicely...let me find his file.  I have one more patient to see, then we’ll all sit down and have a little chat.”  

Ben breathed a sigh of relief.  This was good, this was progress.  If he could just get someone to let him perform the rite, things might work out.  It hadn’t completely possessed Hux, but Kylo wasn’t certain when the demons would come back or how much more Hux could take.  He had looked...he looked terrible.  His features were sunken, paler than usual, making the freckles on his shoulders stand out like flecks of bird seeds from his mother’s feeder on the winter snow.  His eyes looked bruised and tired and he seemed thinner.  Hux hadn’t been eating as well as he should have been, but it seemed like he shouldn’t have lost that much weight in such a short time.  There was barely anything left of him.  And that bite…  

He was a tough kid though, and he’d managed to get a number of clues.  Hux saw seven shadows around him in a dream, one leader and six followers.  That was consistent with what he had found, and if it was a real vision, then at the very least they had a number they could work with.  There were still the other hints.  ‘Ren’ and ‘secrets.’  Ren was still the most troubling.  It might not have been a real word at all, and yet the possibility that it might be real, just not something that had been encountered before, was eating at him.  

He went over his theories again.  ‘Ren’ had been Hux trying to say B’ren’dol, his father’s name, which could mean that Hux had been trying to say, ‘Brendol tells them secrets.’  It made sense, if demons heard him cursing his son, then they might have gotten information about Armitage.  Brendol hadn’t been involved in the Snoke Stand-off though, he hadn’t even been in the country at the time.  Demons could get information through observation of humans and other means, which meant they might have gotten information from Brendol about Armitage and had been watching him to learn about the Snoke Stand-off.  

That didn’t explain why it seemed to be trying to present itself as Snoke though.  Ben had faced demons who had brought up Snoke, but none of them had ever tried pretending to be him.  That lead to two possibilities.  One was that the demons were trying a new tactic, or that the demon really was Snoke, a spirit that couldn’t transmigrate because his sins were so terrible.  A spirit looking for a human vessel to attach itself to.  

That wasn’t what Catholics believed though…  

While Ben wouldn’t always say so out loud, he did disagree with a lot of things the Church said and did.  There was a lot more he agreed with than disagreed with, or else he never would have converted, but he did have his misgivings.  He had been told that these were good, that doubt and question were a part of faith and could help him grow and become stronger.  This didn’t seem the same though.  It wasn’t something that could be debated or argued, it was a very concrete case of true and false with the evidence right in front of him.  Either the Catholic definition of what demons were was correct,or it wasn’t.  

He decided to sit in the waiting room to wait for Krennic.  He wanted to figure more things out before he spoke with Hux again.  He pulled up the wikipedia article for ‘dybbuk’ on his phone and scrolled down to references to start researching again.  He had done this last night as well, but he still had questions.  He more or less found what his mother had told him about, and if the demon really was Snoke, it fit him to a T.  He didn’t think Hux was the sort a dybbuk would attach itself too, he seemed too...normal...for that, but everything else fit.  

He leaned back into the chair, so far back that his head hit the hard, white wall behind him with a dull thud.  What if it wasn’t Snoke?  What if it was an imposter?  What if it wasn’t?  Could he exorcise a demon he didn’t really believe existed?  What if it did exist and he was all wrong?  Which faith was real?  Were they all real?  Were none of them real?  

“Honey, you look like shit.”  

Ben wondered for a moment whether or not his mother was real.  Michael used to look like her, so for a moment he thought it was his recurring hallucination, come back to offer more sarcasm and advice.  Michael never brought him Starbucks though.  He arched his brow and asked, “What are you doing here?”  

“You’re welcome,” said his mother, shoving a chai tea into his hand and taking a seat beside him, “Mrs. Wilson was in here for...it’s not important.  Anyways, she comes back, raving about a crazy priest who kept yelling at that poor, old sweetheart Doctor Krennic.”    

Ben snorted before burning his mouth on the first sip.  

“So, I take it things aren’t alright,” said his mother.  

“Not really,” groaned Ben.  

“Ben, whatever’s happening, this is the worst I’ve seen you in a long time,” she pressed, “You’ve never called me about your work before.”  

“Mom...I don’t know what’s happening.  No matter what angle I try to come at this, these things are one step ahead of me.  I don’t know if I’m on the right track, or even the right religion anymore,” sighed Ben, holding the cup in his lap, “And if I can’t handle it, I’m not the one who’s going to pay the price…”  

“Since you’re in the hospital I take it things went really badly,” she said quietly.  She placed a small, wrinkled hand over his wrists and gave it a few pats.  Ben always couldn’t help notice the slight yellow staining from the cigarettes she used to smoke along her fingertips, and probably still did occasionally if they were being honest with themselves, then noticing how their stains were the same.  She gripped his wrist firmly, unable to hold his hand while he held his coffee, “Are you going to be okay, Ben?”  

He didn’t know.  He really didn’t.  The whole question was drawing his faith in God and his own abilities into doubt.  He wanted to help, he at least wanted to try, but he didn’t know if he could.  And if he couldn’t he didn’t know what that would mean for himself or for Hux.  

“Honey, if you want to take a sabbatical and think about it, it would probably help clear your head,” she suggested.  

“That’s weird advice coming from a work-a-holic,” sighed Ben, “Mom, I can’t take a long break like that. People depend on me.”

“Alright then, let’s work backwards from there,” reasoned Leia, letting go of his wrist with another pat, “You want to help this person.  Can you help him the way you are right now?”  

“I don’t know...Everything’s gotten so mixed up that I don’t know,” said Ben.  

“Do you know what they need?” asked Leia.  

“He needs someone to get these spirits away from him,” replied Ben, “But I don’t know what they are, and if I don’t know that, I don’t know for sure if I can get rid of them.”  

“I don’t know how it works, I can’t stand those gruesome ‘exorcism’ movies...is it essential that you know everything, or is this something you want to find out for your own sake?” she continued to press.  

The...rite didn’t call for knowing the specific type of demon.  Names and numbers made things easier, but knowing a type wasn’t a necessity.  He didn’t need to know in order to perform the rite, but...it could be Snoke.  It could be Snoke coming back for him as a demon.  He needed to know if it was Snoke.  He had died during the Stand-off.  Ben was informed of his death while recovering in the hospital.  He couldn’t even recall the last words they exchanged.  Snoke had stolen so much from him, years of his life, his health, his mind, his...his innocence…  

Implications about the validity of his beliefs aside, he wanted to confront Snoke.  He wanted to beat him.  He wanted to have that closure.  If it was a dybbuk, then he would get it, but possibly at the cost of the faith that had grounded him.  If it wasn’t, then his beliefs would be affirmed, but he would never get the chance to confront and defeat his abuser.  

And then there was Hux.  Hux didn’t know anything about this.  Hux just wanted to get back to his job, his apartment and his cat, where he belonged and deserved to be.  

“So, are you going to get on with it or what?”  

He turned and saw Michael sitting in the once empty seat next to him with a glass of grape Kool-aid in hand.  

“Honey?” asked Leia.  

“She can’t see me, only you can see me-” the angel reminded him, taking a sip from his glass and licking a bit of the sugary drink from his upper lip, “-Because of the floor cleaner.  The fumes are pretty overpowering.”  

“...nothing,” said Ben, turning back to his mother.  

“Ben,” Leia whispered insistently, “Are you seeing things again?”  

He’d never been able to admit to her that he’d never stopped seeing things, and he was worried that perhaps he never would stop.  He lied, smiling slightly, “Thought I did, but it was nothing.”  

“You know, we talked about this.  Doing things selflessly.  Is this exorcism for you or for him?” asked the angel, “Because if it’s for you...I’m not sure you’re doing it for the right reasons.”  

“This whole case.  Everything about it makes me think about...about what happened.  I did this because I wanted to help people who got swallowed up like I did but…”  Ben leaned forward to put his cup of tea on the table in front of him.  He could feel the waterworks coming, his face getting hot and his eyes welling, “...but no matter how many I beat them it’ll never be enough.  I’ll never beat  _ him _ .  I just woke up and he was dead and...and I’m still so angry about the things he did…the things I did for him...I never beat him, I just outlived him...Now I think I have the chance and...and I don’t know what’s happening anymore...”  

He willed himself not to cry, to make the tears go away.  His mom trying to hug his massive frame, barely reaching around him, wasn’t helping, “Ben, you did beat him.  You recovered.  I’ve seen you do so many brave things and work so hard to break away.  That’s enough to beat him Ben.”  

“Your feelings aren’t bad, or wrong.  Memories, even shame and guilt can help give you direction and motivation.  But you can’t lose sight of why you became a priest, why you chose to do this...because priesthood wasn’t about you.  It was about service to people who were hurt.”  

“I don’t know if you can even understand.  I woke up and he was dead.  I never got to confront him; really break away from him, and I’m never going to get that closure,” said Ben, unable to help raising his voice.  He was angry that he wouldn’t get it unless...unless the demon was Snoke.  But if he was Snoke it would leave him as confused and spiritually lost as when he started, “I know it’s selfish, but I want this...I don’t know what would happen after, but part of me really wants this.”  

He watched his mother’s mouth twist, the way it always did when she was about to talk about something that had hurt.  A lot.  She spoke very quietly, her words slow and clear to make sure they would be understood explicitly, “You remember what I told you about your grandfather?”  

Ben nodded.  He didn’t need to be told again.  

“That son-of-a-bitch died before I could say a word to him over any of it.  Luke might have made his peace, but I never did,” she explained.  She kept her arm around Ben, “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, kiddo, but it never goes away.  It’s one of those things that will either make you bitter, or it’ll make you better.  But fortunately, it’s a choice, and it’s all up to you.”  

Get bitter or get better.  He felt Michael leaning against him.  He was warm and light, like being wrapped up in a bed sheet fresh from the drier.  It was indescribably comfortable.  “Whether it’s Snoke or not, will you still save Armitage Hux?”  

“I want to help, I want to make things better, I just don’t know if I can anymore…” said Ben.  

“Ben, do you remember that stupid Christmas play when you were five?” asked Leia.  

“The one the teachers didn’t want me to join because they were afraid my Jewish family would go berserk seeing their son in a Christmas pageant?” asked Ben, “I wonder why they were so convinced my mother would lose her mind…”  

“So we went to the school and had a talk, and you got to dress up and be in the play with everyone else.  But do you remember the actual play?” asked Leia.  

Ben groaned slightly as he recalled, “I got stage fright and cried through the whole thing.”  

“Before that,” said Leia.  Ben gave her a puzzled look and she sighed with exasperation, “You refused to go on the stage.  You curled up in a little ball in the bottom of Santa’s sleigh and refused to come out.  Eventually we did get you out.  We tried threatening, we tried bribing, but you know what finally got you to come out?”  

Ben couldn’t remember.  He had been five and distraught, sobbing fearfully near the feet of a very scared and confused eighth grader in a Santa suit.  

“Your father said if you didn’t want to, it was fine, we could all just go home and it would be no trouble.  But if you kept sitting there sulking, the other kids couldn’t put on their play.  So, you had to choose if you wanted to help them, or come home and never have to get on a stage again,” said Leia.  She smiled as she recalled, “We didn’t expect it to help much, but you jumped up and said you had to help.  For whatever reason, the idea that you needed to help really spurred you on.  Now I have a video of my five year old son in a Reindeer suit, blubbering out that stupid Rudolph song and forcing himself to dance.”  

“You promised to burn that,” muttered Ben.  

His mother shrugged, “The point is, the Ben I know isn’t going to sit on his ass moping while someone needs his help.  If you really want to show yourself that you’ve beaten Snoke, you’re going to go in there and do whatever you need to do.”  

He glanced at Michael.  The angel gave a shrug of his own, “What?  You expect me to say something different?  Tell your mother she’s right.”  

Between his mom and his brain-damaged hallucination, he was closer to getting back on track.  He shook his head, “You’re...you’re right…”  

“If you could make a recording of that, I’d like it wrapped with a bow on my desk for Mother’s Day,” said Leia, giving his back a soft pat, “In all seriousness though, you’re tougher than that son-of-a-bitch ever was.  And even if he had lived, you never would have gotten a chance to get him.  Your father and I would have ripped his head off first.”

“And Uncle Chewee would have torn off his arms,” said Ben, forcing himself to snort.  

“And your other Uncle, my saint of a brother who sees the good in everyone...he probably would have taken a fat chunk out of him too,” said Leia, “Or beat him to death with his prosthetic.”  

Ben knew she was trying to make him laugh.  That was what she did.  Ben nodded and forced a smile, “Thanks for the tea...I know you’re busy.”  

“I got special permission to leave to go lecture my son for being so mean to that nice Doctor Krennic,” said Leia, rolling her eyes unabashedly, “If I were you, I’d have stuffed that stethoscope up his ass by now.”  

“The blood pressure thing would be funnier, imagine pumping it up,” suggested Ben.  

Leia snorted, “Alright, you got me, that one’s better.”  

She stood, turning to look at Ben, “Now, I need to go to my office, and you need to figure out what you’re going to do.  Right?”  

“I’ve got a few ideas,” said Ben.  

She nodded and left, though Ben noticed she was walking a bit slower than she usually did.  He sighed and rested his head against the hard wall behind his chair, “Why am I such a fuck-up?”  

“Could be the drugs,” replied Michael.  Ben glared down at him and the angel gave another shrug, “You’re the one who asked.  You should know by now I’m not so good with comfort.”

“I just...I was so selfish.  If I’d just done the rite instead of playing detective, it might not have come to this,” said Kylo.  

Michael sighed and glanced down at the floor, tapping the toes of his sandals together.  His voice was quiet, so quiet Ben might have thought he imagined it, “It’s selfish, but I can understand...don’t go chasing that confrontation though.”  His voice became so quiet Ben found himself straining to hear, “They wear you down.  Make you bitter.”  

“And you’d know?” asked Ben.  

“My own brother betrayed my father, turned a third of my family against us, sought to destroy humanity, and tried to kill me.  So, yeah, I know something about that,” said the angel, twirling a strand of red hair around his finger, “I’ve been fighting for billions of what you consider years.  It never feels good.  It just opens up old wounds over and over.”  

Ben knew the story about The Fall.  He’d never really thought about the familial connection though, or what it might have felt like to be an angel at that time.  He did that with other saints, doing spiritual exercises to try to understand their minds and connection with God.  Spent a few long, hard, silent retreats with Jesuits doing just that, but always with human saints.  In a way, Michael was a little like him.  There had been someone he loved, someone he trusted, and that person had betrayed him.  

“Our situations aren’t perfectly comparable, but, it makes the things we do more personal than they are for other people.  If we make it about us though, our revenge, our closure, making ourselves feel better, it narrows our vision.  Makes us selfish, but at the same time that selfishness makes us lose ourselves.  Squeezes our focus until it’s as thin as a knife.  And when our intent becomes a weapon, a weapon is all we can ever hope to be.”  

Ben wasn’t sure if these were things Michael would say, or just his damaged mind supplying what he wanted the angel to tell him.  He gave a shrug, “So what is there left to do with all the feelings that are left?”  

Michael turned and tapped at the medals that hung under his clothing, “They can tell you, if you listen.  And when they tell you, you can use that to help Armitage Hux, your mother, and so many others.”  

Ben reached under his shirt and pulled out his chain.  He had so many saints now that his father had joked that they didn’t need to bring an anchor on their fishing trips, they could just toss Ben’s necklace over the side and their boat would stay in place.  He looked over them and say the faces of martyrs, people who fought for something bigger than themselves.  They were holy, but they were people too, with real feelings, not just statues or pretty pictures.  They must have been angry at some point or another, frustrated, hurt…they must have had their doubts too...  

He stopped at Edith Stein and his mother’s Star of David.  If anybody knew about suffering and life being unfair, it had to be them.  Even so, they somehow managed to let go of it, become something bigger than their pain.  Ben wanted to do that, but everything inside him felt so great, so terrible, he didn’t know if he could overcome it.  

What had Edith Stein said?  What did they all inevitably say about those things?  “And when night comes, and you look back over the day and see how fragmentary everything has been, and how much you planned that has gone undone, and all the reasons you have to be embarrassed and ashamed: just take everything exactly as it is, put it in God's hands and leave it with Him.”  

It sounded too good to be true.  A bit too fluffy, like a motivational poster.  He wasn’t sure if he could do that, just let go of all the pain and hate that had shaped his life for years.  But if it could be done, it was worth a shot.  And if there was a shot for him, there must have been one for Hux and for his mother, and everyone else who’d been in the places he had.  

He heard the familiar sound of metal clicking into place as a clip was loaded into the bottom of a gun.  Michael looked over at him, “We’ll all be in there with you.  You know what I always tell you before these things.”  

“Do not be afraid,” said Ben.  

And for a few moments, he wasn’t.  

 

  ***   

 

“So, the two of you want to turn my hospital into a sideshow with spirits and hocus-pocus?”

Armaz knew he looked awful.  He felt thin and wan and imagined he must have sunken features, and he hoped it was made all the more frightening by the way he glared at Doctor Krennic.  He growled through gritted teeth, “If you won’t let me have the exorcism, then I’m leaving.”  

“You’re coherent now, but do you have any memory of what you did when you were brought in?  I can’t let you leave if you’re going to attack people,” insisted Krennic, “You’re staying until you can have an assessment.”  

Armaz looked at Ben, “I’m over eighteen and I have the right to refuse treatment, don’t I?”  

“You...really shouldn’t though,” advised Father Ben, looking at Armaz’ stomach, “I wouldn’t recommend it.”  

“Finally some sense out of you…” Krennic muttered to himself.

“Well...what about Doctor Phasma?  If she didn’t find anything then…” Armaz trailed off.  

Honestly, he wasn’t holding out hope for much.  He barely recalled that she said something about ‘seizures’ but if there was something else…  

Father Ben held out his phone, “Doctor Phasma’s test wasn’t conclusive and it sort of got interrupted, but from what we talked about there was nothing going on.  You can call her if you want.”  

“We have spoken with her recently, and she seemed insistent that the patient was having seizures,” replied Krennic, “No demons at all.”  

“I’m right bloody here…” grumbled Armaz, “At least use my name.”  

“And after all your scans and you can’t find any reason that he’d be having seizures,” said Ben, “He’s healthy, and there’s a good chance he’s fine mentally.  With those two ruled out, there’s only one possibility left.  It won’t cost you anything to let us try this.”  

“I’m not interested in cost!” snapped Krennic.  Armaz winced slightly as the sound echoed through his Spartan hospital room.  He could only watch the doctor rave, “What am I supposed to tell everyone?  Nobody’s going to believe that there’s ghosts and demons flying about!  How am I supposed to keep my reputation, and that of this hospital in the clear if word gets out that we treat our patients using magic and rituals!?  If word gets out there’s going to be a panic and this place is going to turn into a paranormal sideshow attraction!”  

“And what about that whole, ‘Do no harm’ thing?  We’re just going to ignore that now that it’s convenient?” demanded Ben.  

“I refuse to believe that these things exist,” insisted Krennic.  

“Then don’t!” snarled Armaz, “I’ve a right to see a priest if I’m sick, don’t I?  So just shut the door, tell people whatever you want and let him try!”  

Doctor Krennic seemed taken aback by a patient snapping at him.  He stared down at Armaz, wagging his finger at him the way he would a naughty child, “And how do we know that validating your story about demons isn’t going to make you worse?”  

Memories flashed through Armaz' mind.  Interviews with police, showing off his bruises as they asked if they really came from his father.  Could he have bumped into something?  Was he certain he remembered everything correctly?  It was his word against that of a man who was older and more powerful.  Hux remembered his face burning, having to explain, re-explain and always repeat everything exactly the same or else people would claim inconsistencies with his story and try to invalidate his whole case.  

He remembered being in a hospital, a lot like this one, with all the invasive prodding and strangers taking pictures of his beaten body to show more strangers in court.  He remembered how humiliating it was, all the shame, all the uncertainty of whether or not his efforts would even yield a result, or if it would add more fuel to his father’s anger…

“If he gets worse, we’ll leave it to you,” said Ben, “But just...look at him.  You have to know that what you’ve been trying isn’t helping.”  

“And you know better than me?” asked Krennic, “Who knew I could have gotten better knowledge on health in a seminary then at medical school?  I agreed to talk with both of you, not agree to all your madness.”  

Father Ben stepped in, looking like he just might grab Doctor Krennic and toss him out the window, “You’re going to get out and give me a solid hour and a half.  Look at him!  He’s got one fucking foot in the grave!  This man needs his Last Rites, anointing for the sick and absolution!”  

For a moment Hux froze.  He was going to die!?  Father Ben hadn’t said anything about dying!  As he silently panicked, Ben continued, his voice building louder and louder, “Nothing wrong with that, right?  Now I need to have his final confession and for that I need privacy!  So get out and LET ME ATTEND THIS POOR DYING MAN YOU HEARTLESS MONSTER!”  

He said the last part so loudly Hux was certain that the whole hospital must have heard.  It was then that he realized that must have been the idea.  Doctor Krennic was pale, likely from a combination of being shouted at by a burly priest, and having the whole hospital think someone was trying to deny a dying person spiritual comfort.  It was probably the most ridiculous thing Armaz had ever witnessed, but it seemed to be working.  

“You..are horribly immature, and a terrible priest,” said Kennic sharply, checking his shoulder against Father Ben’s as he marched, seething, to the door.  Hux also notice him nurse the spot where he’d collided with Father Ben, rubbing the area gingerly.  

“Not the first time I’ve heard that this week…” muttered Ben.  With Krennic gone he moved closer, “Please tell me you realized you’re not actually dying.”  

“I should hope I’m not,” said Armaz.  

Father Ben nodded and began to rifle through his backpack.  It...it was actually happening.  The rite was finally going to be performed.  He felt scared.  Every time they confronted the demons, they fought back harder and harder.  He’d had his body paralyzed, used, bitten and...whatever was happening to make him so weak now.  

“It’s not the cherry jell-o you wanted, but I hope it helps,” said Kylo, unpacking his backpack onto the little table beside Hux.  

Armaz had never done anything like this before.  He’d always been healthy, he’d never even needed his wisdom teeth or tonsils out.  He’d never needed for someone to perform some sort of operation or ritual on him.  His body felt like ice, though he couldn’t feel his toes and fingers at all.  It could all go so wrong.  Could...could he…

“Will it hurt?” Armaz asked, his voice quavering as the thought of pain swept over him.  

Father Ben looked down at him, his brow furrowed.  He reached down and put a large hand on his cheek, “Do you want to truth, or the answer that will make you feel better?”  

Armaz gripped the blankets.  So it would hurt…  

“It’s going to hurt, and sometimes multiple rites are needed, but if we can beat them all in one shot, then it’s only going to hurt one time, and it’ll all be over,” the priest promised him, “You’re the lynchpin in all of this.  You’ve got to stay strong, and no matter what it says and does, don’t give in, okay?  Don’t let them have you.”  

“Easy for you to say…” mumbled Armaz, his fear doing nothing to stay his usual snark.  

“Trust me, kid.  I know what I’m talking about,” said Father Ben.  Hux watched him drape a purple, wrinkled garment over his shoulders and swore he felt something touch his leg.  Was it just his gown?  He didn’t know anymore.  

The priest crossed himself and Armaz closed his eyes.  It was going to hurt.  He didn’t know much or how bad but it was going to.  He tried to brace for the pain.  He was told that people like him, people who’d been hurt, could develop ways to dissociate from pain, somehow turn their minds off and make things hurt less, but if it was possible, he’d never been able to do it.  He always felt everything.  Every punch, every kick, every lash of his belt, every-  

A sudden slicing feeling ran down his chest, then across.  Armaz howled.  

He could barely hear Father Ben’s voice over the sound of his own screaming.  His eyes flew open, but with his head still strapped down he couldn’t see his own chest.  Was there blood?  There must be blood.  Nothing could hurt that much and have no blood to show for it.  He could hear chanting, then names, a long list of names that rang piercing and burning through his ears and into his brain.  

He heard a growl above it all, “You just can’t tell when your soul’s been fucked over, can you?”  

 

  ***  

 

Hux was screaming, and unfortunately that was normal.  When the Rite began it was common for possessed people to lash out, and for those being obsessed over to be subjected to pain.  It made Ben’s heart twist in on himself.  Hux was hurting because of the Rite, hurting because of him.  His instinct was to stop and try to help, but he had to push through it.  If he stopped the ritual, then the demons would remain, and that would do Hux more harm than good.  He’d let the demons stay more than long enough; he needed to get rid of them before they killed Hux.  

He pressed on, beginning the Litany of Saints, calling on all the Saints and Angels for help.  He wasn’t going to do this alone.  He needed an army, and he could think of no better shock-troops than the holiest men and women in human history.  He listed them, asking them each in turn for their prayers.  Apostles, martyrs, priests, brothers, sisters and laypeople.  He called on all of them because he needed all of them.  He needed them for Hux.  He wasn’t going to let Snoke or any other evil hurt anyone in front of him again, not without a fight.  

He read the psalm and Hux kept screaming.  He looked worse.  He wasn’t going red in the face like someone ought to when they were constantly shouting.  He was just getting more and more pale as he went on.  He was starting to hear words from Hux, words that cut him to the quick, “Stop!  If you love me stop!  It hurts!”  

Ben almost did stop.  He didn’t want to hurt Hux, and he couldn’t continue without Hux’s permission.  The problem was, that didn’t sound like Hux.  Giving up didn’t sound like something he would do.  Up until now he had endured everything and asked for help when he couldn’t fight on his own any more.  It also wasn’t something Hux had ever said to him.  They’d never talked about love.  Ben had never suggested that he was in love with Hux, or saw him as anything more than someone who needed help, or a friend at most.  It sounded so manipulative, something Hux had never been with him.  

But Ben remembered someone else who had been that way with him.  

He continued the Rite and Hux continued, whimpering quietly, “They’re hurting me.  They’ll go away if you stop.  Please...please stop.  If you love me you have to stop.”  

Ben continued, “ Let your mighty hand cast him out of your servant, Armitage Hux, so he may no longer hold captive this person whom it pleased you to make in your image, and to redeem through your Son; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, forever and ever.”

Hux snarled and raved, “You hate me!  You hate me you hate me you want me to hurt I hate you!”  

The words stung worse than any slur or memory that demons had used against him in any other exorcism before.  He could feel his heart aching.  Now he knew it wasn’t Hux, but it was still coming out of Hux’s mouth.  He did care about Hux, and to hear words filled with hate spewing out at him.  

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” sobbed Hux, “Please, I’ll do anything...I’ll sleep with you, just stop hurting me.”  

Ben ignored the words.  He knew it was the demon talking, and it certainly knew where to hit to twist his guts and make him feel horrible.  He kept going.  It was all he could do, “I command you, unclean spirit, whoever you are, along with all your minions now attacking this servant of God, by the mysteries of the incarnation, passion, resurrection, and ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ, by the descent of the Holy Spirit, by the coming of our Lord for judgment, that you tell me by some sign your name, and the day and hour of your departure.”  

The demon snarled, “You can’t command me!  Fake priest!  Fake!  You don’t know who you worship!  I’ll never tell!”  

“I command you, moreover, to obey me to the letter, I who am a minister of God despite my unworthiness; nor shall you be emboldened to harm in any way this creature of God, or the bystanders, or any of their possessions,” said Ben, raising his voice to drown out some of the shouting.  

“But wouldn’t you like to know...who do you say that I am?  You can have the truth!  I can give you the knowledge of true religion!  You’ll never doubt again!  You’ll have this host!  He’s exactly to your liking!  I’ll give you the world if you’ll only be silent for a moment!  A moment for the world, Ben Solo!”  offered the demon.  

“They shall lay their hands upon the sick and all will be well with them. May Jesus, Son of Mary, Lord and Savior of the world, through the merits and intercession of His holy apostles Peter and Paul and all His saints, show you favor and mercy,” said Ben firmly.  It was tempting, so tempting.  He wanted truth.  He wanted revenge and he wanted clarity for once in his life.  He wanted sex, physical love.  Despite swearing it off for his vocation, it was something he still craved.  As ashamed as he was to admit it, Hux looked like the pinups in magazines he used to hide under his bed.  They were all things he wanted.  

But he wanted Hux to be free from the demons more than he wanted any of those things.  

He read the gospels, and the demon alternated between snivelling and threatening.  Sometimes it would whimper and cry out for mercy, accusing Ben of cruelty and hating Hux by his actions.  Then it would shout, calling for all the word to hear that Ben was a fake who had no place being a priest.  It would barter, trying to play on his lust, his desires for truth and a chance to face Snoke.  It was shifting, almost as if three of them were alternating between tactics.  

“I’ll never obey you!  Fake!  Fake!” it cried out.  

Then perhaps it was time to bring it someone it would be forced to listen to.  

“I cast you out, unclean spirit, along with every Satanic power of the enemy, every spectre from hell, and all your fell companions; in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ! Begone and stay far from this creature of God!  For it is He who commands you, not me!  He who flung you headlong from the heights of heaven into the depths of hell!  It is  _ He _ who commands you!  He who once stilled the sea and the wind and the storm!  Hearken, therefore, and tremble in fear, Satan!  You enemy of the faith!  You foe of the human race!  You begetter of death!   You robber of life!  You corrupter of justice!  You root of all evil and vice; seducer of men!  Betrayer of the nations!  Instigator of envy!  Font of avarice!  Fomenter of discord!  Author of pain and sorrow!” Ben shouted back, making the sign of the cross over Hux.  As he did either Hux or the demon screamed, writhing under the motion.  

“Don’t you want to know who I am!  Continue and you’ll never know!  You’ll never know everything!  It will be lost forever!  You’ll doubt for the rest of your life!”  

It seemed to be getting desperate, but Ben tried to ignore it.  He wanted to know.  He wanted desperately to know and never have to feel doubt or torn between two worlds ever again.  He wanted to know so he could have the chance to get back at Snoke.  To show that horrible man that in spite of everything he tried to do, Ben had survived it.  He did want those things.  He thought of Hux.  Saying yes meant giving up Hux’s soul and his life.  He couldn’t do that.  He wouldn’t.  Before all those other things, he wanted Hux.  

It occurred to him that he did love Hux, just not in the way the devil wanted him to.  He continued, “Repel, O Lord, the devil's power, break asunder his snares and traps, put the unholy tempter to flight. By the sign of your name…” with some struggle, he made the sign of the cross on Hux’s forehead, “Let your servant be protected in mind and body.” With that he crossed Hux’s chest three times, drawing out more screams and wails from the man and the demons.  Ben hoped he could hold on.  They were so close now... 

“Keep watch over the inmost recesses of his heart,” growled Ben, crossing Hux again, “Rule over his emotions; strengthen his will. Let vanish from his soul the temptions of the mighty adversary. Graciously grant, O Lord, as we call on your holy name, that the evil spirit, who hitherto terrorized over us, may himself retreat in terror and defeat, so that this servant of yours may sincerely and steadfastly render you the service which is your due; through Christ our Lord...Amen.”  

Hux stilled and everything went quiet.  It seemed too quiet.  Ben could hear the medical equipment sending out steady tones and the hushed whispers of frightened voices outside.  Hux didn’t say anything, the demons didn’t say anything.  The equipment was still running, sending out a stream of blips in time with Hux’s heartbeat.  He was alive, but something still seemed wrong.  It wasn’t uncommon for victims of possession to be exhausted after the ritual, but it they usually weren’t rendered unconscious.  

“Hux...hey, kid...Armaz…” said Ben quietly, reaching forward and shook the slighter man’s shoulder, “Hey...you can wake up.”  

Hux remained still and Ben became more desperate, “Come on...that’s not funny.  Wake up...at least let me know you’re okay before you sleep…”  

Ben could see his eyes twitch behind his eyelids.  Was he alright?  Could he hear?  What if...what if he’d done something wrong?  What if he really was a fake?  What if it was a demon he wasn’t equipped to face?  Had he...had he only made things worse?  

He got down on his knees, wrapping his hand around Hux’s and closing his rosary beads between them.  Hux’s hands were cold.  Even the rosary beads pressed between their hands and tangled around their fingers seemed warmer than Hux.  He squeezed Hux’s hand and whispered, “Let me know you’re okay...just let me know you’re going to be okay.”  

He tried to squeeze the warmth back into his hand.  The rosary wasn’t hurting him, so that was good.  Ben held his hand tighter.  He was so cold, like ice, and he was white as a sheet.  He wasn’t bleeding, he hadn’t lost any blood during the exorcism so...so what was wrong.  He had to fix this.  He couldn’t let this happen to Hux after everything he’d been through.  

“Wake up…” pleaded Ben, “You fought so much...you can’t give up…”  

He could feel the frozen, slender fingers twitch in his grip.  Ben squeezed them, hoping to feel more movement.  He brought his free hand to Hux’s wrist and felt for his pulse, despite being able to hear it.  It was weak, but it was there.  Hux couldn’t...he couldn’t die, not like this.  

He stood, and taking a leaf from his mother’s book he gave Hux a slight shake, “No.  You don’t get to die.  After all that I’m not letting you go.”  

“...of...m…” muttered Hux.  

Ben leaned in closer, “W-what?”  

“...off me...” groaned Hux, “...heavy.”  

Ben lept back and asked, “So...so you’re okay?”  

“No…” mumbled Hux.  

“Well, I guess, since you still look pretty bad, but...is it gone?  Can you still feel them?” asked Ben, “Sometimes it takes more than one ritual.”  

“Don’t know...they’ve gone away before,” said Hux.  He groaned slightly and complained, “I’m starving...do you think they’ll let me have that cherry jell-o now?”  

“If they don’t, I’ll go straight to the store and get you some myself,” said Ben.  He could hear more noise at the door, “If it’s gone for now, I think the doctors and nurses can care for you best.  Listen to what they say and get better, okay?”  

“Even Krennic?” asked Hux.  

Ben paused as he thought it over, “Unfortunately, yeah, even Krennic.”  

Hux groaned and sank back into the bed, no longer resisting the restraints.  He muttered, “What was that loud bang?  It was like a gunshot...”  

“We were making a lot of noise, I didn’t notice one,” admitted Ben, shoving his stole back into his backpack.  

Hux closed his eyes and sighed, “So long as it’s over, it’s just as well…”  

Ben gave his shoulder a squeeze, giving a silent goodbye.  He didn’t know if he’d be able to visit, he doubted Doctor Krennic would allow him within ten feet of the hospital, but he could try.  He braced himself for the tongue-lashing he was going to get from the disgruntled doctor for all the noise, and the apology that he would need to give Doctor Erzo for not consulting her, but it was worth it.  

It looked like Armaz would be alright.   

 

  ***   

 

He had been right about Doctor Krennic.  When he returned to the parochial house, he found his housekeeper waiting, angry and tight-lipped, with a transcript of a phone call she had with St. Lawrence’s hospital.  Father Ben was banned until he learned to follow instructions.  

He was still allowed to wait on the curb though.  He kept the engine running so the air and music would stay on.  He wasn’t surprised that Hux called him, he always wanted an update on how people were doing after the exorcism.  Hux said he was doing okay, that he’d put on a little bit more late, and he was deemed stable enough, mentally and physically, to go home, and even go back to work.  He’d been in contact with the friend who had his stuff as well.  When Hux was out of the hospital, he would be able to get his cat back.  

What surprised Ben was that Hux asked for a ride.  That had never happened before.  So he showed up at the curb, admittedly late, but he hoped the Starbucks would make up for it.  Hux had a latte last time, if he remembered right.  It had been quite some time ago.  

He was shocked out of his stupor when Hux knocked on the window.  He unlocked the door and swung it open, letting Hux climb inside.  For the first time in a while, Ben smiled and said, “Hey.”  

“Hey,” said Hux, climbing into the passenger seat with his little bag of clothes and his study bible.  

“Feeling okay?” asked Ben, “You look good.”  

There was actual colour in his face, and for a moment, Ben had to remind himself that he was talking to the same Hux.  His frame had filled out a little.  Not enough to change his figure much, but enough to make him look healthy.  His eyes were less sunken, and his collarbone didn’t stick out quite so much.  He’d never asked, but he supposed Hux must have lost weight from all his anxiety once his contact with demonic entities began.  His hair was a bit shaggy, but it was clean.  Everything about Hux seemed to be doing better.  

“So, food?” asked Ben.  

“Oh, god yes!” exclaimed Hux before clamping a hand over his mouth, “I..I mean...by gosh…”  

Ben snorted and waved his hand, “It’s fine.  After nothing but hospital food, I’m sure He’ll forgive you for a little slip-up.”  

“I’ve been paranoid, I suppose...I don’t want to give them an excuse to come back,” said Hux.  

“So they’re gone?” asked Ben, looking out into the street and watching for traffic as he pulled out.  

“They haven’t come back...I think they are,” said Hux.  He sank back into his seat and said something unexpected, “I’m sorry.”  

Ben’s eyebrow shot up, “Sorry?  What the hell do you have to be sorry for!?”  

Hux flinched and Ben sighed, “Sorry...guess it’s too soon.”  

“It’s...I couldn’t get it’s name.  You never said anything but...it was important for you wasn’t it?  You really wanted to know who it was,” said Hux.  

Ben nodded and tried to think of a response.  His desire to know had possibly kept the demons inside Hux longer than necessary.  He’d hidden enough from the poor kid, he might as well come clean, “I thought...it might have been someone I knew.  Before I cleaned up my act.”  

“What do you mean?” asked Hux.  

“Look, you know I was Jewish once upon a time.  In Christianity humans can’t become demons, but in Judaism, in the right circumstances, it’s possible.  It was acting like someone I knew a long time ago.  I just...I wanted to know.  And I’m sorry I put that before getting you back to normal,” admitted Ben, bracing for the backlash he deserved.  

Instead he was met with curiosity, “So...it might have been someone you knew?”  

Ben turned off the music and sighed, “A very bad someone, yeah…when you mentioned secrets I thought, maybe he’s behind this.  Maybe I can finally get even.”  

Hux stayed quiet and eyed the cups near the shift.  Ben nodded towards them, “Sorry, the second one is yours.  I thought you’d need it.”  

“I thought I smelled it, I’m surprised you remembered without writing on your arm,” said Hux.  He took a sip before looking the cup over, “It’s bigger than what I usually get.”  

“Sorry,” said Ben.  

“No, no.  I haven’t had a decent coffee in ages.  I’ll probably be able to finish,” said Hux.  He took another sip and asked, “But if it’s gone, does this mean you’ll never know who it was?”  

Ben sighed, “I’m slowly learning to tell myself that it was never important.”  

Hux furrowed his brow, a motion Ben barely caught from the corner of his eye.  He repeated, “Getting the demon out of you was not supposed to be about me.  You wouldn’t want a doctor to put off removing a cancer so he can make a new discovery, so you shouldn’t expect your exorcist to put off a Rite so he can work through his own baggage...I was selfish and I’m sorry.”  

“So...what you told me at that diner, the one who hurt you when you were younger, you thought it was him?” asked Hux.  He shook his head, “It looked like a lot of things, shadows, my father, an old man...do you think…?”  

Ben shuddered at the mention of an old man.  He said firmly, for himself and Hux, “We’ll never know I think...but the important thing is, whatever it was, we beat it.  We won.”  

Hux looked down at the steam wafting out of the top of his cup, “I want to think it was my father.  Never punched the bastard in the face.”  

“You  _ want _ to think it was him?” asked Ben incredulously, “That’s impossible for Catholics.”

“Well if I can’t  _ know _ I’ll take the version that makes me feel best,” replied Hux adamantly, “I don’t know much about my own religion, I don’t know much about angels or demons either, but I’ve just been through...heck...and believing you’ve consigned my father to...heck...makes me feel better.  So, where are we going?  I’m absolutely starving.”  

It was an odd solution, and in Ben’s opinion an unsatisfying one, but what else was there to do?  He wouldn’t know the answer until he died.  He could either be content with that or draw his own conclusion.  He looked at Hux with uncertainty.  It was such a selfish, ignorant answer solution, but it was definitely the one that Hux deserved.  

That might mean...that might mean for the first time, he didn’t have to be torn.  If there was no definitive conclusion, than he could decide nearly anything.  He could decide it was Snoke, but because it worked, the two religions were somehow compatible.  He could choose that.  He could, just this once, feel a little peace...maybe just this once he deserved it too.  

“What do you feel like?  It’s on me,” said Ben.  

“Do you even get paid?” asked Hux.  

“Yeah, I do.  Priests get salaries,” said Ben incredulously, “You didn’t know that?”  

“Well, no.  I’ve never seen a priest go shopping so I just assumed you all lived on charity of some sort…” said Hux.  

“The women’s league does most of my cooking, so you’re not wrong…” admitted Ben.  WHen Hux didn’t give a suggestion he asked, “Denny’s?  McDonald’s?  Somewhere with doughnuts?”  

“I will literally eat your dashboard if we don’t go somewhere soon.  I could care not care less about where we go,” said Armaz.  

“Right, hold on, I’ll get you some eggs and greasy hashbrowns in no time,” said Ben, pressing down a little harder on the gas than he really needed to.  There were no cops around to do much about it.  

He settled on the nearest drive through and Hux, becoming slightly more withdrawn, shyly asked for a raspberry doughnut and breakfast sandwich.  Ben had barely finished pulling back into traffic when Hux tore the brown takeaway bag open and ravenously attacked the sandwich, moaning loudly as the first tastes of non-hospital food hit his tongue.  He sat back, plastered to the chair as if he just experienced something better than any orgasm, slumping against the headrest with his eyes sealed shut in pleasure.  

“Good?” asked Ben with a slight smile, unable to help being amused by such an overblown reaction to a cheap sandwich.  

“Don’t you dare judge me,” said Hux, still all smiles as he took another massive bite.”  

He reached over and ruffled Hux’s hair.  He couldn’t help that either.  He was sure Hux had to be younger than him, he reminded Ben of a little kid when he was like this.  He pulled his hand back and turned the music on again.  He took his own hashbrown out of the mutilated bag.  Folding it in half he popped the whole thing in his mouth.  His mom would have hated that, but it was the best way to eat on the go.  Hux finished his sandwich in record time, but decided to savour the doughnut, breaking it into little pieces and enjoying them individually.  He asked eventually, “So, are they gone forever?”  

“I’ve never heard of them coming back.  I’m pretty sure you won’t be seeing them again,” said Ben, “Just don’t do anything dumb with ouija boards.”  

“I don’t think I’ll want to watch a horror film ever again after that, let alone look at a ouija board,” said Hux, shaking his head.  He sighed, “It just feels so strange for it to be over.  Normal doesn’t seem to feel the same anymore.”  

“You will,” said Ben, “Though you should probably come to Mass.  Just to be sure.  After that...I wouldn’t complain if you decided to keep coming.   Think it might be good for you.”  

“I would think so…” said Hux.  He looked at Ben’s arm, “I was also thinking in the hospital...did getting those hurt?”  

“They stick inky needles in your skin, so, yeah, it does hurt a bit,” replied the priest, “Why?”  

“I was just thinking...and it might have been the ridiculous amounts of chicken broth talking...I thought about getting one,” admitted Hux.  

“Dragon?” asked Ben, recalling their conversation in the Catholic book shop.  

“No...you have one for sorrow, so if I get one, that’s two for joy,” said Hux.  

Ben’s brow furrowed in confusion.  He had no idea what Hux was talking about, but he did say his family was English.  It might have been an old saying or something.  Hux quickly tried to cover it up, hastily adding, “Though that might be too strange.  Getting matching tattoos with a priest.”  

“No, it wasn’t that, I just never heard that before,” said Ben.  

Hux looked out the window and said quietly, “Just an old rhyme.  When you see different numbers of magpies it means different things.  It took me a while to figure out, but I realized in hospital that your tattoo was a magpie.”  

“If you want it I won’t stop you.  He-Heck, I’ll even go with you and hold your hand while you get it done.  So two is for joy?” asked Ben.  

Hux nodded, “Two for joy.”  

Ben reached down, and to his surprise, Hux didn’t shrink away when he took his hand.  For the second time, he held the redhead’s hand, rosary beads firmly planted between them.  He smiled slightly and allowed himself to be happy, allowed himself just once to be at peace with all the conflicting parts of his mind.  As they came to a red light, he looked over at Hux and said, “I like it…I like it a lot.”  

Hux nodded again, and flushing slightly, he looked down at his lap, “I think I like it too.”  

As they turned, Hux looked up and stammered, “Wait...that was the turn to get to my apartment.”  

“We’re not going to your apartment,” said Ben.  

To his horror, Armaz unlocked his door and looked ready to roll out of the car.  Ben grabbed his shoulder, “I mean, we’re going to a nice sit-down place!  For actual breakfast!  Holy shit, kid…”   

“You’re the one who was talking like a kidnapper!” snapped Armaz, flushing slightly as he tucked some shaggy red hair behind his ear.  

“Sheesh...sorry…” sighed Ben, “I figured Poe’s place was pretty good.  You liked the gyros last time, right?  They do breakfasts too.  Want to come or do you want me to take you home?”  

Armaz thought it over, regarding the empty wrapper of his sandwich and the remaining crumbs of the raspberry doughnut.  As thin as the redhead was, a breakfast sandwich and a doughnut wasn’t enough to keep him going, and after nothing but broths and hospital foods, he was bound to want something more substantial.  Armaz sighed, “I’ll go, I’m still a bit hungry.”  

“That’s good,” said Ben, “And it looks like you gained a little weight too.  I was worried with how thin you looked.”  

Armaz sat back in the worn passenger seat and muttered, “I keep telling myself that it wasn’t as bad as it felt, but it was wasn’t it?”  

Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, Ben groped for Hux’s hand again.  Finding it, he advised, “It’s over, just focus on that for now.”  

 

  ***   

 

Coming back to the diner seemed surreal.  It was the same place they had been the day he was hospitalized.  Everything seemed the same to Armaz.  The same pictures on the walls, the same chequed table cloths, the same cheerful waiter going around taking orders before bringing food out to waiting customers.  The same menu was sitting in front of him and the same man was sitting across from him.  

The exorcism seemed a distant nightmare.  He saw visions, horrible contorted monsters mixed with familiar faces.  There was pain, there were threats, and his body was being forced to say things he didn’t believe, all while he was strapped prone and helpless to the hospital bed.  

When Ben had left he was bombarded with an army or doctors and nurses determined to make sure no damage had been done.  Armaz couldn’t really blame them for thinking he’d been eviscerated with all the noise he had been making.  Nobody said a word about demons, but he was monitored and spoken to, making casual conversation about work, his experiences moving from Britain to America and his cooking classes.  After a few hours, and a lot of hesitation, the straps finally came off, and so did a number of the little machines and wires that had been fitted to him.  Armaz couldn’t believe how freeing it was just to be able to do something as simple as go to the toilet by himself.  

He stayed for a few days and was told by an irate Doctor Krennic that he was dangerously underweight, which shocked Armaz.  He wasn’t a big person, but he’d always been healthy.  Somehow during the time the demon had been active he’d lost several pounds.  Looking in a mirror for the first time, he found he was emaciated.  It had been Armaz decision, despite the cost, to stay in the hospital for a few days of monitoring while a nutrition regimen was drawn up for him.  A female doctor with brown hair advised him, “Just eat everything.”  

He thought about that as he focused on the menu.  Since taking cooking classes he couldn’t help dissecting them, wondering what was added or how food was stored.  Previously frozen foods never tasted quite as good as fresh, but in this case, he felt like he could drink the bottles of ketchup and mustard that had been laid out.  

He looked down at the menu and arched his brow, “Why does a Greek restaurant have a ‘Paul Bunyan’ breakfast set?”  

Father Ben glanced up at the waiter, and seeing that he was on the other side of the dining area, he whispered, “He’s not actually Greek.  He just makes great gyros.” 

Armaz arched his brow and figured he must be missing out on some sort of inside joke.  He shook his head, “I’ll have the set.”  

It was Father Ben’s turn to look incredulous, “That’s four eggs, two pieces of toast, two pancakes, four slices of bacon, and four sausages.”  

“Do you think he’d add beans to it?” asked Armaz, “I miss beans and toast.”    

Father Ben seemed stupefied, “I’ve never asked…Is that an English thing?”  

“It is.  Most restaurants here haven’t heard of it,” said Armaz.  He instinctively reached for his phone and found he didn’t have it.  The first chance he got though, he was going to call Mitaka and tell him to bring Millie home.  He missed his cat so much.  He couldn’t wait to hold her again.  Part of him couldn’t believe he was alive and well enough to hold her again.  

The demons had been vicious, one in particular.  He still wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t from when he was drugged.  The old man, the one that changed shape and could change moods with it on a dime.  It had been manipulative, switching from sweet to violent when it suited its needs.  Armaz had never known anyone so fiery before.  The way it shouted at him he almost felt he needed to believe it.  Strange to say, it had been a charismatic spirit, and Armaz had been uncertain if he would be able to resist it for much longer.  

He felt badly though.  It’s name...Father Ben had wanted so badly to know its name.  Armaz was confident that he could remember it giving a name, but he couldn’t remember it.  Father Ben was convinced that name was Ren, a name that Armaz associated with a stupid old children’s cartoon.  He very much doubted the name, but...that was the only name he had.  Maybe the demon was Ren, maybe it was something else, and as nonchalant as he tried to be, not having a definitive name would haunt him.  

“Hey, I usually don’t see you bring anyone back for a second date, ready to order?” asked the waiter.  What was his name?  Poe?  

Father Ben looked up irately, “It’s not a date.  Do you put beans on toast?”  

Poe arched his brow, “Not usually...but I guess it wouldn’t be too hard to do.  So what’ll it be?”  

“Paul Bunyan with beans on the toast, and plain toast with eggs and turkey bacon,” said Father Ben.  

“So, I guess I’ll be seeing you two around?” asked the waiter.  

Armaz couldn’t help flushing slightly.  He couldn’t date a priest!  If they started doing this so regularly it would look like they were dating.  He couldn’t date a priest!  Of all the things he  _ did _ know about Catholicism not being able to date a priest was chiefest among them!  

Not receiving an answer, the waiter excused himself to serve someone who was calling for a coffee refll.  Father Ben stared across the table, “I’m allowed to have friends.  I do like you, so if you ever want to hang out...like I said, I’m more than willing to hold your hand if you want to get a tattoo someday.”  

Friends.  Of course.  Friends.  They could be friends.  Armaz didn’t have many of those, admittedly.  There was Mitaka and Millicent...though he and Mitaka mostly interacted in the office and almost never met each other unless they needed favours.  Really, he only had his cooking class on weekends to occupy him.  He could probably stand to have some company now and then.  He never thought he’d be friends with a priest, but it didn’t seem so bad.  

“I don’t know if I’m serious about it yet…” said Armaz, “I don’t think my arms are thick enough.”  

“You don’t need a big one,” assured Father Ben, “Tattoos are something you do for yourself, so if you do get one, make sure it’s a picture, size and in a place that makes you feel good.”  

Armaz supposed that made sense, and he did want one.  As corny as it sounded, he thought a magpie was fitting.  They’d both been through this hell together, so surely it was alright if they wanted a little joy in their lives.  It still seemed presumptive though, for someone who was barely a friend to want to mark his body permanently in a way that linked them together.  It seemed a big step to take to bind himself to someone he barely knew.  Father Ben had helped him so much though.  People got tattoos because someone they admired had one.  It wasn’t so odd.  

“It’d be cute on your shoulder,” said Father Ben, reaching around to pat the back of his own shoulder blade, “And nobody would have to see it.”  

Armaz was slightly worried that the damned priest was  _ flirting _ with him.  But that couldn’t be right.  He folded his hands in his lap and replied, “Shoulder is good.”  

“I really like your idea.  We...have some pretty weird stuff in common.  I’m not sure anyone else will really get it…” admitted Father Ben, “It’s rough trying to find someone who you don’t have to explain this stuff to.  They just sort of get it because they’ve been there.”  

“Frankly, I don’t know if I could talk to anyone else about this.  My father hitting me was one thing, but demons?  For most people it’s outside the realm of possibility,” said Armaz.  If he was being honest with himself, he couldn’t blame them.  A few months ago demons were just things that scared people in horror movies and books.  

“So...we’ll keep in touch?” asked Father Ben.  

“I’d like to keep in touch,” affirmed Armaz.  He grinned as he added, “Besides, you have a car, and I think I like that you give me rides.”  

“And you can make really great omelettes,” said Father Ben, “I’ll give you rides if you have me over for dinner every now and then.”  

“Is that allowed?” asked Armaz.  

“Yeah.  I go to parishioners houses for dinner all the time.  There’s nothing weird about it,” assured the priest, “I still haven’t met your cat yet.  And maybe we can find that heirloom rosary.”  

Armaz watched intently as a large platter of food was brought to their table.  Not a plate, a platter.  He could feel saliva gushing into his mouth at the sight and smell of it.  To top it all off, there were baked beans spread over the top of the toast.  His stomach growled when he saw that.  With some effort he tore his eyes away and turned his attention to Father Ben, “Bless it quick so we can eat.”  

Father Ben snorted, “Sure thing, kid.”  


End file.
